Page:Poems Dorr.djvu/48

And leads me in where my young children lie,
 Rosy and beautiful in tranquil rest;
The seal of sleep is on each fast-shut eye,
 Heaven's peace within each breast.

I bring them gifts. Not frankincense nor myrrh—
 Gifts the adoring Magi humbly brought
The young child, cradled in the arms of her
 Blest beyond mortal thought;

But love—the love that fills my mother-heart
 With a sweet rapture oft akin to pain;
Such yearning love as bids the tear-drops start
 And fall like summer rain.

And faith—that dares, for their dear sakes, to climb
 Boldly, where once it would have feared to go,
And calmly standing upon heights sublime,
 Fears not the storm below.

And prayer! O God! unto thy throne I come,
 Bringing my darlings—but I cannot speak.
With love and awe oppressed, my lips are dumb:
 Grant what my heart would seek!