MY little boy, with smooth, fair cheeks, And dreamy, large, brown eyes, Not often, little wisehead, speaks, But hearing, weighs and tries. "God is not only in the sky," His sister said one day— Not older much, but she would cry Like Wisdom in the way— "He's in this room." His dreamy, clear, Large eyes look round for God: In vain they search, in vain they peer; His wits are all abroad! "He is not here, mamma? No, no; I do not see him at all! He's not the shadows, is he?" So His doubtful accents fall— Fall on my heart, no babble mere! They rouse both love and shame: But for earth's loneliness and fear, I might be saying the same! Nay, sometimes, ere the morning break And home the shadows flee, In my dim room even yet I take Those shadows, Lord, for thee! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PALINODE; AUTUMN by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL HORATIUS [AT THE BRIDGE], FR. LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME by THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY THE BENCH OF BOORS by HERMAN MELVILLE THE CONCLUSION OF A LETTER TO THE REV. MR. C --. by MARY BARBER THE UNSEEN WORLD by CRAVEN LANGSTROTH BETTS THE TURKISH LADY by THOMAS CAMPBELL THE GRIEF OF AN HEIR by WILLIAM COWPER AN HONEST VALENTINE; RETURNED FROM THE DEAD-LETTER OFFICE by DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK |