When Baby strayed, it seemed to
me,
Sun, moon and stars waned suddenly.

At once, with frenzied haste, my feet
Ran up and down the busy street.

If ever in my life I prayed,
It was the evening Baby strayed.

And yet my great concern was this
(Not dread of losing Baby's kiss,

And Baby's soft small hand in mine,
And Baby's comradeship divine),

'Twas BABY'S terror, BABY'S fears!
Whose hand but mine could dry her
tears?

I without Baby? In my need
I were a piteous soul indeed.

But piteous far, beyond all other,
A little child without a mother.

And God, in mercy, graciously
Gave my lost darling back to me.

O high and lofty One!
THOU couldst have lived to all eternity
Apart from ME!
In majesty, upon that emerald throne.
Thou, with Thy morning stars,
Thy dawns, with golden bars,
And all the music of the heavenly train.
Possessing all things, what hadst Thou to
gain
By seeking me?
What was I? . . . and, what am I? . . .
less than nought.
And yet Thy mercy sought.
Yea, Thou hast set my feet
Upon the way of holiness, and sweet
It is, to seek Thee daily, unafraid . . .

But (this I learnt the night that Baby
strayed)
Here was Thy chief, Thy great concern
for me:
My desolate estate, apart from Thee!