  Whom first we love, you know, we seldom wed. Time rules us all. And life, indeed, is not The thing we planned it out ere hope was dead. And then, we women cannot choose our lot. Much must be borne which it is hard to bear; Much given away which it were sweet to keep. God help us all! who need, indeed, his care. And yet I know the Shepherd loves his sheep. My little boy begins to babble now Upon my knee his earliest infant prayer. He has his father's eager eyes, I know; And, they say, too, his mother's sunny hair. But when he sleeps and smiles upon my knee, And I can feel his light breath come and go, I think of one (Heaven help and pity me!) Who loved me, and whom I loved, long ago; Who might have been ... ah, what I dare not think! We are all changed. God judges for us best. God help us do our duty, and not shrink, And trust in Heaven humbly for the rest. But blame us women not, if some appear Too cold at times; and some too gay and light. Who knows the past? and who can judge us right? Ah, were we judged by what we might have been, And not by what we are,—too apt to fall! My little child,—he sleeps and smiles between These thoughts and me. In heaven we shall know all! Robert Bulwer Lytton. |
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