Oh, where did you come from, baby mine,
With your face like a cherub's sweet?
Did the angels scatter with flowers, the path
That was pressed by your little feet?
Or, did you fly from the realms of love?
On your shoulders methinks I see
In the crumpled roseleaf dimples there,
The place where the wings should be.
The angels were loth to leave you, my child,
I know they were filled with fear,
I almost fancy I hear their wings
Hovering somewhere near.
Oh, they need not doubt that your mother's heart
Holds less of love than their own,
And though I may lack of their wisdom my pet,
My love for the lack shall atone.
Oh, gift of the angels—Gift of God,
What a trust for a mortal to hold!
A boy to guide in the paths of right,
A soul for Heaven to mold.
My darling, I fain would shelter you here,
Close, close on my own fond breast,
For my heart shrinks back from the terrors of life
When my bird flies out of the nest.
If only Christ gave me the power, my boy,
To suffer and toil in your stead,
I'd pluck every thorn from your path in life
And toss you its roses instead.
And the selfish love of your mother, boy,
Would rob you of life's best boon,
And drown the chorus of angel choirs,
By setting the world attune.
So I'll send back the tears of a mother's love,
I will crush out a mother's fear,
And push you with tender, trembling hands
Out into Life's highway, dear.
Yet strongly armored by truth, my boy,
And shod by your mother's prayer,
I'll know that your Heavenly Father's love
O'ershadows you everywhere.
And that sometime, after life's battle is o'er
In the land of our promised rest—
I shall meet you, my baby, to part never more,
And hold you once more on my breast.