GOD’S CHILD.
37
Stabbed with a sudden traitor thrust
The heart so unafraid!
Then dung him down into the dust,
To perish on the blade!
Earth felt, and, staggered with the blow,
Reeled shuddering under me!
Dead worlds, like shrivelled leaves, fell low
From Life’s uprooted tree!
How shall I name Thee, Thou Supreme?
Hate, Treachery, or Crime? …
… When may we rise from our dark dream
Beyond the bounds of Time? …
He is but folded closer still
Within the Father’s bosom,
Lest our earth airs may work him ill,
My baby boy, my blossom!
