  DEAREST, how hard it is to say That all is for the best, Since, sometimes, in a grievous way God’s will is manifest. See with what hearty, noisy glee Our little ones to-night Dance round and round our Christmas tree With pretty toys bedight. Dearest, one voice they may not hear, One face they may not see— Ah, what of all this Christmas cheer Cometh to you and me? Cometh before our misty eyes That other little face, And we clasp, in tender, reverent wise, That love in the old embrace. Dearest, the Christ-Child walks to-night, Bringing his peace to men, And he bringeth to you and to me the light Of the old, old years again. Bringeth the peace of long ago, When a wee one clasped your knee And lisped of the morrow—dear one, you know— And here come back is he! Dearest, ’tis sometimes hard to say That all is for the best, For, often, in a grievous way God’s will is manifest. But in the grace of this holy night That bringeth us back our child, Let us see that the ways of God are right, And so be reconciled. |
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