POEMS
389
| To form the bud for bursting bloom, |
| The hoary head with joy to crown; |
| In short, the right to work and pray, |
| “To point to heaven and lead the way.” |
The Mother's Evening Prayer
| O gentle presence, peace and joy and power; |
| O Life divine, that owns each waiting hour, |
| Thou Love that guards the nestling's faltering flight! |
| Keep Thou my child on upward wing to-night. |
| Love is our refuge; only with mine eye |
| Can I behold the snare, the pit, the fall: |
| His habitation high is here, and nigh, |
| His arm encircles me, and mine, and all. |
| O make me glad for every scalding tear, |
| For hope deferred, ingratitude, disdain! |
| Wait, and love more for every hate, and fear |
| No ill, — since God is good, and loss is gain. |
| Beneath the shadow of His mighty wing; |
| In that sweet secret of the narrow way, |
| Seeking and finding, with the angels sing: |
| “Lo, I am with you alway,” — watch and pray. |
| No snare, no fowler, pestilence or pain; |
| No night drops down upon the troubled breast, |
| When heaven's aftersmile earth's tear-drops gain, |
| And mother finds her home and heavenly rest. |
