  If, sitting with this little, worn-out shoe, And scarlet stocking lying on my knee, I knew the little feet had pattered through The pearl-set gates that lie ’twixt Heaven and me, I could be reconciled and happy too, And look with glad eyes toward the jasper sea. If in the morning when the song of birds Reminds me of a music far more sweet, I listen for his pretty broken words, And for the music of his dimpled feet, I could be almost happy, though I heard No answer, and saw but his vacant seat. I could be glad if, when the day is done, And all its cares and heart-ache laid away, I could look west ward to the hidden sun, And with a heart full of sweet yearnings say: “To-night I’m nearer to my little one By just the travel of one earthly day.” In sandals wrought of light in better lands, And that the footprints of a tender God, Ran side by side with his, in golden sands-- I could bow cheerfully and kiss the rod, Since Benny was in wiser, safer hands. If he were dead, I would not sit to-day And stain with tears the wee sock on my knee; I would not kiss the tiny shoe and say, “Bring back again my little boy to me!” I would be patient, knowing ’twas God’s way, Although I must not all the wisdom see. But O! to know the feet once pure and white, The haunts of vice had boldly ventured in! The hands that should have battled for the right, |
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