Oftentimes a sleepless infant
For a season frets and cries:
All at once an unseen finger
Curtains up the little eyes.
So the cradled child He nurses
God will tranquillise.
His the all-enfolding Presence;
Oh, what tutelage it brings
To the little lives that ripen
'Neath the shelter of its wings;
God's delays are no denials,
As He waits He sings!
They alone are seers and singers
Who invalidate despair
By the lofty hopes they cherish,
By the gallant deeds they dare,
By the ceaseless aspirations
Of a life of prayer.
Brothers, sisters, lift your voices,
May the rapture of your song
Put to flight the sad misgivings
That have vexed the world too long;
God would have us share the triumph
That shall right the wrong.
Loch Laggan: 1884.
A CRADLED CHILD.
(To E. A. G.)
Behold! the world's inheritance,
The treasure-trove of happy homes;
Whereby the poorest hut becomes
A fairy-palace of romance.