“SEVENTEEN, EIGHTEEN, MAID’S A-WAITING!”
Eighteen years ago the sunshine
Laughed to find a baby face;
Laughed to see the blue eyes sober,
In that golden, glad October,
Softly kissed the wisps of hair,
Softly kissed, and lingered there,
Like an answer to a prayer,
Like a whispered benediction,
Token bright of heavenly grace.
Standing on life’s sunlit threshold,
Gazing forth with eyes of blue
On the great round world before her,
On the kind skies brooding o’er her,—
From the baby hair the light
Never has departed quite;
Still it lingers, pure and bright.
Yes, the little maid is waiting,
With a purpose grand and true;
Waiting for whate’er the Father
Calls His child to do and bear;
Waiting, as a thirsty flower
Waits the morning dew and shower.
Summers come and summers go,
Sparrows flutter to and fro,
Autumn breezes murmur low;
“Seventeen, eighteen, Maidie’s waiting,
With the sunshine in her hair!”