McClure's Magazine/Volume 8/Number 2/The Inquisition

at dead of night; The room was still as death; All in the dark I saw a sight Which made me catch my breath.

Although she slumbered near, The silence hung so deep I leaned above her crib to hear If it were death or sleep.

As low—all quick—I leant, Two large eyes thrust me back; Dark eyes—too wise—which gazed intent; Blue eyes transformed to black.

Heavens! how those steadfast eyes Their eerie vigil kept! Was this some angel in disguise Who searched us while we slept;

Who winnow'd every sin, Who tracked each slip and fall, One of God's spies—not Babykin, Not Babykin at all?

Day came with golden air; She caught the beams and smiled; No masked inquisitor was there, Only a babbling child!