Recompense: (For Lord Kilhacken)

That which I saved I lost And that I lost I found, And you are mine, oh tender little ghost, Whose grave is holy ground. That which I kept is flown, So fast the children grow, The only child I keep to be my own I lost long years ago. The little ones that stayed Slip from me while I cry: Oh, not so fast, so fast, you golden-head. Swift as the wind they fly. Not two days are the same. To-morrow will not see To-day's young children, crested like a flame, Gathered about my knee. One day a day will dawn Will see me dispossessed -- An empty nest whence singing-birds have flown. Who shall refill the nest? The years run out like sand To strip me of my pride; Then in my hand will steal a clinging hand. I keep the child who died. God gives and does not lend This one lamb of the fold; And he will need his mother to the end And never will grow old.