"Do not fear, my tender nursling,
Aught of evil spirits' might;
For good angels still are watching
Round thy pathway day and night."
Now the fir-tree's dark-green fingers
Tap upon the window low,
And the moon, a yellow listener,
Casts within her sweetest glow.
Father, mother, both are sleeping,
Near at hand their rest they take;
But we two, in pleasant gossip,
Keep each other long awake.
"That thou prayest much too often,
Seems unlikely, I declare;
On thy lips there is a quiver
Which was never born of prayer.
"Ah! that heartless, cold expression
All my being terrifies—
Though my darkling fear is lessened
By thy frank and honest eyes.
"Yet I doubt if thou believest
What is held for truth by most;
Hast thou faith in God the Father,
In the Son and Holy Ghost?"
"Ah, my darling! when an infant
By my mother's knee I stood,
I believed in God the Father,
In the Ruler great and good.
"He who made the world so lovely,
Gave man beauty, gave him force,
And to sun and moon and planets
Pre-appointed each its course.
"As I older grew, my darling,
And my way in wisdom won,
I in reason comprehended,
And believe now in the Son—
"In the well-loved Son, who, loving,
Oped the gates of Love so wide;
And for thanks—as is the custom—
By the world was crucified.