Classic Poem

It was when the year was old,
When the grass was sere and brown,
When the autumn winds went wild and cold,
Over the woodland, over the wold,
Shaking the dead leaves down —

That a dainty, baby face,
A spirit undimmed by stain,
A form of touching and tender grace,
Came from some brighter and better place
Into this world of pain.

With a brain to thrill and ache,
With a soul to fall or rise,
A heart to love, to suffer, to break,
Two dimpled hands to refuse or take
From life a blank or prize.

And O, for a Sybil's art —
For a Sybil's eye to see
What power will rule in this new made heart,
What path is traced in his young life's chart
By the finger of Destiny?

" O beautiful eyes, " I said,
" How can ye learn to weep?
O little white feet, how learn to tread
Where the strongest, bravest feet have bled
From thorn-wounds sore and deep? "

While thus our love and our fears,
With questioning vain and wild,
Went trembling into the unborn years,
Dreaming of pitiless troubles and tears,
His sweet lips only smiled.

And the dainty, baby face
Grew lovelier day by day;
The lips smiled on with a tender grace.
And we held him close in love's embrace
Till the angels came that way.

They came on a winter night,
When the stars were cold and dim,
And bore him away on their pinions white,
Out of the darkness, into the light —
The home of the Cherubim.

Though his days were few and fleet
On the shadowy shore of Time,
He still lives on, and his little feet
Will learn to walk in the life complete
Of a brighter, better clime.

And the dimpled hands, instead
Of striving for earthly prize —
Of daily toiling for daily bread,
Shall gather the golden fruitage shed
From the trees of Paradise.