Page:Roden Noel - A Little Child's Monument - 1881.pdf/54

 Stabbed with a sudden traitor thrust The heart so unafraid! Then dung him down into the dust, To perish on the blade!

Earth felt, and, staggered with the blow, Reeled shuddering under me! Dead worlds, like shrivelled leaves, fell low From Life’s uprooted tree!

How shall I name Thee, Thou Supreme? Hate, Treachery, or Crime? … … When may we rise from our dark dream Beyond the bounds of Time? …

He is but folded closer still Within the Father’s bosom, Lest our earth airs may work him ill, My baby boy, my blossom!