Classic Poem

" WHERE is little Marjorie? "
There's the robin in the tree,
With his gallant call once more
From the boughs above the door!
There's the bluebird's note, and there
Are spring-voices everywhere
Calling, calling ceaselessly —
" Where is little Marjorie? "

And her old playmate, the rain,
Calling at the window-pane
In soft syllables that win
Not her answer from within —
" Where is little Marjorie? " —
Or is it the rain, ah me!
Or wild gusts of tears that were
Calling us — not calling her!

" Where is little Marjorie? "
Oh, in high security
She is hidden from the reach
Of all voices that beseech:
She is where no troubled word,
Sob or sigh is ever heard,
Since God whispered tenderly —
" Where is little Marjorie? "