When we are weary with the world's rough teaching,
⁠Too weak to press our way among the rest,
Too tired to guess at life's perplexed meaning,
⁠Too worn to follow in its eager quest,

We ask but room beneath still summer skies
⁠To dream in rest, and, waking, dream again.
Calmly to bear what still before us lies,
⁠Sutter unshared the woes that yet remain.

'Tis then, I think, God sends His special spirits.
⁠Who straightway open our cold slumbering hearts
With love that yields far more than it inherits.
⁠With love that claims as much as it imparts.
 
No winged troop of angels, pure and sinless.
⁠Nor saints, who too grew weary of the earth;
But little souls whose life is fresh and guileless.
⁠Of human weakness and of human birth;

The little children, with their wistful pleading
⁠For love and strength to feed their tender growth,
Yet give us warmth and sunshine, all unheeding,
⁠Unconscious teachers of life-giving truth.

When baby-fingers twine within our own.
⁠We cannot push their clinging love away;
We cannot walk the tedious path alone
⁠When little feet want strengthening on the way.

When childish eyes grow brighter with the sun,
⁠How can we shun the glowing golden light?
With little thoughts unfolding one by one,
⁠We dare not shut the truth out from our sight.

Their tender love, dependence full and sweet,
⁠We needs must feed with fuller love and power;
And seeking this will bring us to His feet
⁠Who feeds the birds, unfolds the opening flower.

And doubting souls first know a God above them
⁠When they have felt the spirit's mother-bliss.
And weary hearts God gathers to His bosom
⁠When in His father love He sends us this.

She took the brown seeds in her hand,
⁠And softly turned them one by one,
Saying "For these I only want
⁠A little rain, a little sun,
A short-lived sleep within the earth
⁠Until winter frosts be done.

"Quickly the spring days come again.
⁠Quickly the snowdrops follow snow.
Perchance my little babe shall pluck
⁠Flowers where I plant these brown seeds now;
God! send Thy sun and rain to feed
⁠Both flowers when they together grow."

Bright shone the sun, fast fell the rain.
⁠The hands that sowed were clasped in rest,
Over some flowers a baby's hand
⁠Had laid upon its mother's breast;
God took the seed His hand had sown.
⁠And planted it where flowers grow best.

The King said to the fair Infanta,
"Daughter! to the window flee;
I can hear the mermaids singing
In the midst of yonder sea."
"Father! they are not the mermaids
That you hear so sweetly sing;
But, my love, my Dom Doardos,
Calls the daughter of the King!"
"If, in sooth, 'tis Dom Doardos,
I will have his traitrous head."
"Father! if you kill my lover,
Let my blood be also shed."
So they slew young Dom Doardos
At the moonlight evening's close;
And the Infanta's head lay lowly
Ere the morning's sun arose.
One was buried in the chapel;
The other, near the portal fine.
An olive-tree grew from her body.
And from his a royal pine.
Thrives the one, and thrives the other;
And entwined their branches grow.
Then the father, fraught with anger,
Bids his woodman lay them low.
From the olive, milk flows gushing;
Royal blood bursts from the pine.
Then the Queen, with envy burning,
Has them cast into the brine.
Fishers seek the beach for treasure;
Empty nets bring prayer and plaint;
But they see a lovely chapel.
An altar, and an imaged saint.
Straight they call the priests together,
Call the priests from near and far.
That they may baptize the chapel
Sam Joam de Baixa-mar,^[1]
And the saint upon the altar
Blessed Virgin do Pilar!
Soon the people thronged together,
And the King, among the crowd,
Struck with sorrow and repentance,
Smote his breast and wept aloud.
"Cease, dear father, cease your sorrow,
Dry your tears, and weep no more;
No earthly power can sever lovers
Joined by God forevermore."