A CHILD is born — it gasps and cries, And claps its wee fists to its eyes; It stares at those who stand around, And sleeps, a stranger unto care, While she that smiles o'er joys new-found, Prays for him ere he needs for prayer. A hundred childish ills he worries through, A thousand times his life hangs by a thread; He falls, when there is nothing else to do, From some high perch and strikes upon his head — Ah, who shall say God keeps him not in sight, Nor hears the prayers she offers up at night? Toil and hope and despair, Grieving and doubting and joy; Days that were dark and days that were fair For those who love the boy; Years that have wearily dragged, Years that have flown and griefs that have lagged — lagged — To make him a man at last. Hark to the summons that comes! Hear the merciless roll of the drums! The man for whom plans were made, He for whom schemes were laid, Must brush them aside, for somewhere Somebody has wronged someone — Let the banners wave high in the air, There is soul-stirring work to be done! Down through the valley and over the slope, A regiment sweeps to the fray! What of the prayers, the toil, the hope, And the lofty plans of yesterday? An angry shot, A crimson clot, And the smiles and tears Of twenty years End in a lump of lifeless clay. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HIS SAVIOURS WORDS, GOING TO THE CROSSE by ROBERT HERRICK IN SCHOOL-DAYS by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER CHRISTMAS, 1917 by BRENT DOW ALLINSON STANZAS ADDRESSED TO SOME FRIEND GOING TO THE SEA-SIDE by BERNARD BARTON HYMN TO HORUS by MATHILDE BLIND |