"Out of harmony," they said, And she agreed: Yet she left it hanging there above her bed Year after year, -- the small brown frame With its page Streaked and yellowed with age. Out of harmony! She knew That its page Was streaked and yellowed with age When to her, as a child, it seemed to be Out of harmony. Yet now reclining, weary With the strain and feverish ways of the day's routine She lifts her eyes to the old brown frame And hears again the sweet refrain: "Over my slumbers your loving watch keep, -- Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep." The old brown frame with its page Streaked and yellowed with age On her wall remains A symbol of serenity, bequeathing quietude When all the world would seem to be Out of harmony. |