St. Johnsbury Caledonian

Baby Fingers on the Pane.

From the music softly stealing
Down the dim arcade of years,
Come the melodies I treasure,
Hallowed by my joys and tears;
And amid their magic numbers,
Reaching down a golden chain,
I can hear a baby's fingers
Tapping on the window pane

When my hands with toil were weary,
And the twilight shadows fell,
And I wandered slowly homeward
To my cot within the dell—
Then my weary steps grew lighter,
As there floated down the lane,
Music sweet of baby's fingers
Tapping on the window pane.

Oft the world in coldness met me,
And would crush me with its pride;
Oft misfortunes gathered 'round me
To o'erthrow me with its tide.
Sick and weary, faint and hungry,
I would wander up that lane:
Then how clear was baby's fingers
Calling at the window pane.

But one eve a darkened shadow
Fell across the cottage floor,
And the crape upon the morrow
Hung its folds along the door.
Years of weariness and sorrow
I have listened all in vain
For the sound of baby's fingers
Calling at the window pane.

But methinks within the cottage
Of the city pure with gold,
There is waiting for my footsteps
Papa's baby as of old.
And some Summer day in heaven,
Treading up the pearly lane,
I shall hear my baby's fingers
Tapping on the window pane.

-[Selected.