WHEN tiny babes we touch on brow and breast, Making them God's the while, We murmur: "Take and keep, Thy keep is best," And tearfully we smile. And when, lapsed back to childhood's witless ways, All helpless in our hands, Poor souls, they walk as in a dim-lit haze -- What myriads in what lands! Then, with awed lips, we look to the divine, Striving to still our fears, And say: "They seem not ours, they @3must@1 be Thine," -- Wetting them with our tears. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MONUMENT MOUNTAIN by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT CALDWELL OF SPRINGFIELD [JUNE 23, 1780] by FRANCIS BRET HARTE EPILOGUE TO LESSING'S LAOCOON by MATTHEW ARNOLD BRUCE: IN PRAISE OF FREEDOM by JOHN BARBOUR BRIDAL SERENADE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES SATISFIED by HESTER A. BENEDICT ADONIS by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE FUNERAL OF A VILLAGE GIRL by JULIEN AUGUSTE PELAGE BRIZEUX |