Page:Roden Noel - A Little Child's Monument - 1881.pdf/126

 Have deepened, widened into skies, With sweet star influences fraught; Ah! let me fare beneath them as I ought! Thou art the Lord's own minister! Here are frankincense and myrrh; Burn them in thy golden censer, Till odorous fumes rise ever denser From my poor life consumed by fire, Diffused, sweet circling, ranging ever higher! Baby, in thy wee white cot Thou wert embraced! there thou art not! Angel now, filling the whole Earth and heaven, heart and soul! For that thou, my child, endurest, In some more royal form maturest, Is of all sure things the surest! Sights and sounds dissolve, a dream; But never what hath made them seem! All may perish save the Soul, Who breathes and forms the living whole.

But O Thou Spirit at the core Of our numb spirits, more and more May we hold and feel thy truth, Ever aging into youth! Thou who wert awake in God, What time Thy feet storm-beaten trod Grey waves of our bewilderment,