WHEN steps are hurrying homeward, And night the world o'erspreads, And I see at the open windows The shining of little heads, I think of you, my darlings, In your low and lonesome beds. And when the latch is lifted, And I hear the voices glad, I feel my arms more empty, My heart more widely sad; For we measure dearth of blessings By the blessings we have had. But sometimes in sweet visions My faith to sight expands, And with my babes in his bosom, My Lord before me stands, And I feel on my head bowed lowly The touches of little hands. Then pain is lost in patience, And tears no longer flow: They are only dead to the sorrow And sin of life, I know; For if they were not immortal My love would make them so. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A MAN WORKING HIS WAY THROUGH THE CROWD by MARIANNE MOORE MIDSUMMER NIGHT by SARA TEASDALE THE KIND MOON by SARA TEASDALE A SOLILOQUY; OCCASIONED BY THE CHIRPING OF A GRASSHOPPER by WALTER HARTE LANCER by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN ARIEL'S SONG (1) [OR, DIRGE] [OR, A SEA DIRGE]. FR. THE TEMPEST by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE |