Poems (Jackson)/Best

by Helen Hunt Jackson

BEST.

OTHER, I see you, with your nursery light,
Leading your babies, all in white,
 To their sweet rest;
Christ, the Good Shepherd, carries mine to-night,
      And that is best.

I cannot help tears, when I see them twine
Their fingers in yours, and their bright curls shine
      On your warm breast;
But the Saviour's is purer than yours or mine,
      He can love best!

You tremble each hour because your arms
Are weak; your heart is wrung with alarms
      And sore opprest;
My darlings are safe, out of reach of harms,
      And that is best.

You know, over yours may hang even now
Pain and disease, whose fulfilling slow
      Naught can arrest;
Mine in God's gardens run to and fro,
      And that is best.

You know that of yours, your feeblest one
And dearest may live long years alone,
      Unloved, unblest;
Mine are cherished of saints around God's throne.
      And that is best.

You must dread for yours the crime that sears.
Dark guilt unwashed by repentant tears,
      And unconfessed;
Mine entered spotless on eternal years,
      O, how much the best!

But grief is selfish; I cannot see
Always why I should so stricken be,
      More than the rest;
But I know that, as well as for them, for me
      God did the best!