Poems (1901) :: :: University of Virginia Library

PARENTHOOD

These are the years our God
Lays down, and nothing loth,
His sceptre and His rod
As He were tired of both.
Bids men and women take
His empire for a while,
To ban, to bless, to make
The children weep or smile.

All power be yours, He saith,
Over My little ones:
The power of life and death,
The power of clouds and suns.
The power of weal and harm
Be yours to have and hold:
In you they shall go warm,
In you be pinched with cold.

Just for these God-like years
Ye shall not know th' intense
Pang beyond prayers and tears
Of your love's impotence.
Be yours to make, to mar,
This lovely thing I wrought,
With love brought from afar,
And My eternal thought.

This fashioned I of joy,
Much hope, without a stain,
Pure gold without alloy
Redeemed in mine own pain.
For this the wine-press trod,
Ensanguined to the knee.
Afterwards—saith our God—
Ye will account to Me.

For every needless tear,
For all the smiles unsmiled,
For lonely wrong and fear
Wrought on My little child,
Myself will exact the fee,
A God of wrath and scorn:
Better that day that ye
Were dead ere ye were born.

Contrariwise—His wrath
Our Lord God put away—
Your watchful love till death
I will repay, repay.
Lord of the skies and lands
Take pity on Thy dust,
Strengthen our mortal hands
Lest we betray Thy trust!