Mother and Child
When, among all life's miracles, I try
What highest argument may certify
That God is good, however things may seem,
On this I rest,—and evil dims to dream:
Each little Soul that voyages toward birth,
When it arrives on earth,
Its first sea-mysteries o'er,
Makes gentle land-fall on a Mother's breast!
This, too, I think: If mother-rapture wait
Each helpless advent on Time's island-shore,
Must not Eternity, the continent,
Have harbors all as safe? I ask no more.
It did not know its port, that little Soul,—
Unsteering found its goal:
Fear naught, my Soul, sail on,
With orders sealed sail on, to find Life's Best!
What highest argument may certify
That God is good, however things may seem,
On this I rest,—and evil dims to dream:
Each little Soul that voyages toward birth,
When it arrives on earth,
Its first sea-mysteries o'er,
Makes gentle land-fall on a Mother's breast!
This, too, I think: If mother-rapture wait
Each helpless advent on Time's island-shore,
Must not Eternity, the continent,
Have harbors all as safe? I ask no more.
It did not know its port, that little Soul,—
Unsteering found its goal:
Fear naught, my Soul, sail on,
With orders sealed sail on, to find Life's Best!
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