The gay room fades . . . I see a little child
Kneel in the purple gloaming by her bed,
The moon’s pale kisses trembling on her head.
How pure she is, how white and undefiled!
I hear her breathe, “Our Father,” soft and low;
I see the rapt look in her lifted eyes;
(Ah, me! What would the old in creeds and wise
Not yield that raptured confidence to know!)
“Lead us not into” . . . “Hallowed be thy name” . . .
The hurt comes to the throat; and to the heart
The bitter ache for all the wasted years.
This little kneeling child, is she the same
That once I knew? The sudden, blinding smart
Springs to my eyes. . . . The vision blurs in tears.
No comments:
Post a Comment