Classic Poem

O, little window where the sun comes through,
How many times I've lived and loved with you!
I used to take you all my hopes and fears,
My child's temptations and my maiden's tears.
How soft your curtains were against my face—
I seemed to feel her love within the lace.
My mother made them with her own dear hand
Before she passed into that other land.
How patiently you heard my every vow. …
Could you have told me then what I know now,
O, little window!

O, little window where the storm beats wild,
How many times I feared you as a child!
How many times I ran to hide my head
Beneath the cover of my little bed,
Until at last I sobbed myself to sleep,
Praying that God my frightened soul would keep.
I fear you now no more, for I am grown.
Terror and tears and tempest have I known,
Yet fearlessly have breasted every wave,
Knowing that God my trusting soul would save—
O, little window!

O, little window where the vines grow sweet,
How many times we've listened for his feet,
Just you and I when all the world was white
With moon and magic on a summer night.
How foolishly we feared, when he was late,
Until we heard his dear voice at the gate—
O, he was wonderful, my prince of men! …
We've watched and waited many times since then—
That fatal night I would have been his bride,
The night my heart broke and my lover died—
O, little window!

O, little window where love comes again,
To pay for all my bitterness and pain,
To bind the bruises and to heal the stings,
And bring faith back to me on strengthened wings. …
Not the dear love my ardent youth had lost,
But strong and true and worthy of the cost;
How many miracles your dawns have seen,
How many tragedies that might have been—
The time God came to me and made me blest,
The night I held my first born to my breast,
O, little window!

O, little window where I kneel to pray,
How oft you've helped me conquer through the day,
Given me strength to grapple with my woe,
Taught me to bravely stand and face my foe.
Shown me the path when I was blinded quite,
Changed me from serf to master in a night,
Lifted my face to meet the morning sun,
My sorrow vanquished and my battle won
How shall I ever know so dear a friend,
My faithful comforter unto the end—
O, little window!