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Calm as that moonbeam on the wall
Sleep broods on baby's eyes
Arms, still hushed and still, but pulsing quick,
Enfold him as he lies;
My brain is full of thronging thoughts,
Strange passions thrill my breast,
My heart aches with a load of love
That will not let me rest.

Lord, let him shelter in my arms,
Or take us both to Thine;
Or, if a troublous life must come,
Make all the trouble mine.
Or let thy sharp words pierce my heart
To blunt them for the child —
What care I, Lord, for stain and shame,
So he keep undefiled!

The dim years stand about my bed,
They neither smile nor weep;
Like softest kisses, on my face
The little fingers creep.
I hear slow footfalls, in the