BABY HARRY, three years old;
Eyes of blue and hair of gold;
Rosy cheeks which dimples grace;
Loving, trustful little face
Of my boy.
"Mamma, please me wants a drink,
Can 'oo get it, does 'oo fink?"
Questioned thus my baby boy,
As he dropped his book and toy
Carelessly.
"Mamma's busy, she must sew;
Can't my darling baby go
And ask Bridget for a cup?
Tell her, 'Please to fill it up
Full of milk.'"
Twilight shadows crept apace,
Slowly lengthened on his face
As he whispered: "I'se afraid,"
And the curly head was laid
On my knee.
"But," I whispered, "God, you know,
Leads you everywhere you go,
In the darkness or the light,
And He'll make the way all bright
For my boy."
Straight he went through room and hall,
And I heard his sweet voice call:
"Don't let nothin' hurt me, Dod,
Don't let nothin' hurt me, Dod,"
Rev'rently.
And my heart prayed, "Father, teach
My boy to bring to Thee each
Trouble, be it great or small;
Be to him his 'All in All,'
Throughout life."
Oh! for childlike faith, so bright,
That through sorrow's darkest night
We can journey toward that land,
Holding to our Father's hand
Trustingly.
"Ervanie."