We Are Children

CHILDREN indeed are we—children that wait Within a wondrous dwelling, while on high Stretch the sad vapors and the voiceless sky; The house is fair, yet all is desolate Because our Father comes not; clouds of fate Sadden above us—shivering we espy The passing rain, the cloud before the gate, And cry to one another, “He is nigh!” At early morning, with a shining Face, He left us innocent and lily-crown’d; And now this late—night cometh on apace— We hold each other’s hands and look around, Frighted at our own shades! Heaven send us grace! When He returns, all will be sleeping sound.