Two poems

Sun in my lattice, and sun on the sea
    (Oh, but the sun is fair),
And a sky of blue and a sea of green,
And a ship with a white, white sail between,
    And a light wind blowing free--
And back from the stern, and forth from the land,
The last farewell of a waving hand.

Mist on the window and mist on the sea
    (Oh, but the mist is gray),
And the weird, tall shape of a spectral mast
Gleams out of the fog like a ghost of my past
    And the old hope stirs in me--
The old, old hope that warred with doubt,
    While the years with the tides surged in and out.

Rain on my window and rain on the sea
    (Oh, but the rain is sad),
And only the dreams of a vanished barque
And a vanished youth shine through the dark,
    And torture the night and me.
But somewhere, I think, near some fair strand,
That lost ship lies with its waving hand.

Between the curtains of snowy lace,
    Over the way is a baby's face;
It peeps forth, smiling in merry glee,
    And waves its pink little hand at me.

My heart responds with a lonely cry---
    But in the wonderful By-and-By---
Out from the window of God's "To Be,"
    That other baby shall beckon to me.

That ever-haunting and longed-for face,
    That perfect vision of infant grace,
Shall shine on me in a splendour of light,
    Never to fade from my eager sight.

All that was taken shall be made good;
    All that puzzles me understood;
And the wee white hand that I lost, one day,
    Shall lead me into the Better Way.