AFTER THE DEATH OF R. A. F.
February 5, 1888.
Would I could see my baby's face,
That lovely dimpled face,—
O God, how can I bear the pain
Of never seeing it again,
My baby's face;
Of never seeing in those eyes,
Those deep blue heavenly eyes,
The wondrous glimpses of soul-light
Which filled my heart with strange delight
And sweet surprise;
Of never hearing baby's coo,
That little gurgling coo—
O God, how can I bear the pain
Of never hearing it again,
My baby's coo.
Alas! "Thy will, not mine, be done."
Not mine, but Thine, be done.
I can but breathe again this prayer,
As in the days of past despair,
When peace was won.
[TO C. H. F.]
(Upon receiving a twig of green from the grave of Helen Hunt Jackson, October, 1888.)