thy righteous way,
And right will have no wrong.
Good men speak lies against thine own—
Tongue quick, and hearing slow;
They will not let thee walk alone,
And think to serve thee so:
If they the children’s freedom saw
In thee, the children’s king,
They would be still with holy awe,
Or only speak to sing.
Some neither lie nor starve nor fight,
Nor yet the poor deny;
But in their hearts all is not right—
They often sit and sigh.
We need thee every day and hour,
In sunshine and in snow:
Child-king, we pray with all our power—
Be born, and save us so.
We are but men and women, Lord;
Thou art a gracious child!
O fill our hearts, and heap our board,
Pray thee—the winter’s wild!
The sky is sad, the trees are bare,
Hunger and hate about:
Come, child, and ill deeds and ill fare
Will soon be driven out.
A Christmas Carol
Babe Jesus lay in Mary’s lap,
The sun shone in his hair;
And this was how she saw, mayhap,
The crown already there.
For she sang: “Sleep on, my little king;
Bad Herod dares not come;
Before thee sleeping, holy thing,
The wild winds would be dumb.”
“I kiss thy hands, I kiss thy feet,
My child, so long desired;
Thy hands will never be soiled, my sweet;
Thy feet will never be tired.”
“For thou art the king of men, my son;
Thy crown I see it plain!
And men shall worship thee, every one,
And cry, Glory! Amen!”
Babe Jesus he opened his eyes wide—
At Mary looked her lord.
Mother Mary stinted her song and sighed;
Babe Jesus said never a word.
The Sleepless Jesus
’Tis time to sleep, my little boy:
Why gaze thy bright eyes so?
At night our children, for new joy
Home to thy father go,
But thou art wakeful! Sleep, my child;
The moon and stars are gone;
The wind is up and raving wild,
But thou art smiling on!
My child, thou hast immortal eyes
That see by their own light;
They see the children’s blood—it lies
Red-glowing through the night!
Thou hast an ever-open ear
For sob or cry or moan:
Thou seemest not to see or hear,
Thou only smilest on!
When first thou camest to the earth,
All sounds of strife were still;
A silence lay about thy birth,
And thou didst sleep thy fill:
Thou wakest now—why weep’st thou not?
Thy earth is woe-begone;
Both babes and mothers wail their lot,
But still thou smilest on!
I read thy face like holy book;
No hurt is pictured there;
Deep in thine eyes I see the look
Of one who answers prayer.
Beyond pale grief and wild uproars,
Thou seest God’s will well done;
Low prayers, through chambers’ closed doors,
Thou hear’st—and smilest on.
Men say: “I will arise and go;”
God says: “I will go meet:”
Thou seest them gather, weeping low,
About the Father’s feet;
And each for each begin to bear,
And standing lonely none:
Answered, O eyes, ye see all prayer!
Smile, Son of God, smile on.
The Children’s Heaven
The infant lies in blessed ease
Upon his mother’s breast;
No storm, no dark, the baby sees
Invade his heaven of rest.
He nothing knows of change or death—
Her face his holy skies;
The air he breathes, his mother’s breath;
His stars, his mother’s eyes!
Yet half the soft winds wandering there
Are sighs that come of fears;
The dew slow falling through that air—
It is the dew of tears;
And ah, my child, thy heavenly home
Hath storms as well as dew;
Black clouds fill sometimes all its dome,
And quench the starry blue!
“My smile would win no smile again,
If baby saw the things
That ache across his mother’s brain
The while to him she sings!
Thy faith in me is faith in vain—
I am not what I seem:
O dreary day, O cruel pain,
That wakes thee from thy dream!”
Nay, pity not his dreams so fair,
Fear thou no waking grief;
Oh, safer he than though thou were
Good as his vague belief!
There is a heaven that heaven above
Whereon he gazes now;
A truer love than in thy kiss;
A better friend than thou!
The Father’s arms fold like a nest
Both thee and him about;
His face looks down, a heaven of rest,
Where comes no dark, no doubt.
Its mists are clouds of stars that move
On, on, with progress rife;
Its winds, the goings of his love;
Its dew, the dew of life.
We for our children seek thy heart,
For them we lift our eyes:
Lord, should their faith in us depart,
Let faith in thee arise.
When childhood’s visions them forsake,
To women grown and men,
Back to thy heart their hearts oh take,
And bid them dream again.
Rejoice
“Rejoice,” said the Sun; “I will make thee gay
With glory and gladness and holiday;
I am dumb, O man, and I need thy voice!”
But man would not rejoice.
“Rejoice in thyself,” said he, “O Sun,
For thy daily course is a lordly one;
In thy lofty place rejoice if thou can:
For me, I am only a man.”
“Rejoice,” said the Wind; “I am free and strong,
And will wake in thy heart an ancient song;
Hear the roaring woods, my organ noise!”
But man would not rejoice.
“Rejoice, O Wind, in thy strength,” said he,
“For thou fulfillest thy destiny;
Shake the forest, the faint flowers fan;
For me, I am only a man.”
“Rejoice,” said the Night, “with moon and star,
For the Sun and the Wind are gone afar;
I am here with rest and dreaming choice!”
But man would not rejoice;
For he said—“What is rest to me, I pray,
Whose labour leads to no gladsome day?
He only can dream who has hope behind:
Alas for me and my kind!”
Then a voice that came not from moon or star,
From the sun, or the wind that roved afar,
Said, “Man, I am with thee—hear my voice!”
And man said, “I rejoice.”
The Grace of Grace
Had I the grace to win the grace
Of some old man in lore complete,
My face would worship at his face,
And I sit lowly at his feet.
Had I the grace to win the grace
Of childhood, loving shy, apart,
The child should
