Louisa May Alcott Quote

In The GarretFour little chests all in a row,Dim with dust, and worn by time,All fashioned and filled, long ago,By children now in their prime.Four little keys hung side by side,With faded ribbons, brave and gayWhen fastened there, with childish pride,Long ago, on a rainy day.Four little names, one on each lid,Carved out by a boyish hand,And underneath there lieth hidHistories of the happy bandOnce playing here, and pausing oftTo hear the sweet refrain,That came and went on the roof aloft,In the falling summer rain.'Meg' on the first lid, smooth and fair.I look in with loving eyes,For folded here, with well-known care,A goodly gathering lies,The record of a peaceful life--Gifts to gentle child and girl,A bridal gown, lines to a wife,A tiny shoe, a baby curl.No toys in this first chest remain,For all are carried away,In their old age, to join againIn another small Meg's play.Ah, happy mother! Well I knowYou hear, like a sweet refrain,Lullabies ever soft and lowIn the falling summer rain.'Jo' on the next lid, scratched and worn,And within a motley storeOf headless dolls, of schoolbooks torn,Birds and beasts that speak no more,Spoils brought home from the fairy groundOnly trod by youthful feet,Dreams of a future never found,Memories of a past still sweet,Half-writ poems, stories wild,April letters, warm and cold,Diaries of a wilful child,Hints of a woman early old,A woman in a lonely home,Hearing, like a sad refrain--'Be worthy, love, and love will come,'In the falling summer rain.My Beth! the dust is always sweptFrom the lid that bears your name,As if by loving eyes that wept,By careful hands that often came.Death canonized for us one saint,Ever less human than divine,And still we lay, with tender plaint,Relics in this household shrine--The silver bell, so seldom rung,The little cap which last she wore,The fair, dead Catherine that hungBy angels borne above her door.The songs she sang, without lament,In her prison-house of pain,Forever are they sweetly blentWith the falling summer rain.Upon the last lid's polished field--Legend now both fair and trueA gallant knight bears on his shield,'Amy' in letters gold and blue.Within lie snoods that bound her hair,Slippers that have danced their last,Faded flowers laid by with care,Fans whose airy toils are past,Gay valentines, all ardent flames,Trifles that have borne their partIn girlish hopes and fears and shames,The record of a maiden heartNow learning fairer, truer spells,Hearing, like a blithe refrain,The silver sound of bridal bellsIn the falling summer rain.Four little chests all in a row,Dim with dust, and worn by time,Four women, taught by weal and woeTo love and labor in their prime.Four sisters, parted for an hour,None lost, one only gone before,Made by love's immortal power,Nearest and dearest evermore.Oh, when these hidden stores of oursLie open to the Father's sight,May they be rich in golden hours,Deeds that show fairer for the light,Lives whose brave music long shall ring,Like a spirit-stirring strain,Souls that shall gladly soar and singIn the long sunshine after rain