 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
AT NIGHTFALL.
What is it that we children feel,
When by our little beds we kneel,
And speak to Some One out of sight
Above the heavens so high, so bright?
It scarce is wonder, scarce is fear,
That thrills our thoughts, of Some One near.
When by our little beds we kneel,
And speak to Some One out of sight
Above the heavens so high, so bright?
It scarce is wonder, scarce is fear,
That thrills our thoughts, of Some One near.
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We say “Our Father!” when we wake.
What, with the sunrise, seems to break
Through every flower, like a surprise—
As if a thousand loving eyes
Looked out from sunbeams, buds, and dew,
And said, “He is our Father, too!”
What, with the sunrise, seems to break
Through every flower, like a surprise—
As if a thousand loving eyes
Looked out from sunbeams, buds, and dew,
And said, “He is our Father, too!”
We little children stand and gaze
At the white evening star, whose rays
Beam down upon us, like an eye
Forever open in the sky;
Through the strange twilight asking this
Of one another: “Is it His?”
At the white evening star, whose rays
Beam down upon us, like an eye
Forever open in the sky;
Through the strange twilight asking this
Of one another: “Is it His?”
We little children find it sweet
To cling about His unseen feet,
When in some troubled dream we moan,
And wake to find ourselves alone;
So sweet, that we are in His care
Who sees us, loves us, everywhere!
To cling about His unseen feet,
When in some troubled dream we moan,
And wake to find ourselves alone;
So sweet, that we are in His care
Who sees us, loves us, everywhere!
Who is He? That we cannot say.
He is. And by His side to stay,
To love Him in the flowers and birds,
In dear home-faces, tender words,
In all things beautiful and true,—
No more than this we ask to do.
He is. And by His side to stay,
To love Him in the flowers and birds,
In dear home-faces, tender words,
In all things beautiful and true,—
No more than this we ask to do.
Our Father, every day more dear
It seems to live, with Thee so near.
Thou carest for even the smallest star,
And safe within thy heart we are.
If left alone on earth are we,
We are not orphans! we have Thee!
It seems to live, with Thee so near.
Thou carest for even the smallest star,
And safe within thy heart we are.
If left alone on earth are we,
We are not orphans! we have Thee!
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |