Like to a little child, whose straying feet,
Tracking the fox-fire's guiling glint and gleam,
Have wandered far afield by marsh and stream
While just before the wavering glimmers fleet
On and still on where sky and meadow meet,
Till, spent and fearful in the gathering gloom,
At last he sees the guiding light of home,
Where love awaits and mother-kisses sweet.
So was it mine through fens of doubt to stray
Pursuing still some fair ephemeron,
Or fleeting gleam, or shimmering fallacy,
Till through the deepening dusk a beacon shone
Set by the hand of Love to light the way
O Father, to implicit trust in Thee!