I would I were a child, That I might look, and laugh, and say, My Father! And follow Thee with running feet, or rather Be led thus through the wild.
How I would hold thy hand! My glad eyes often to thy glory lifting, Which casts all beauteous shadows, ever shifting, Over this sea and land.
If a dark thing came near, I would but creep within thy mantle's folding, Shut my eyes close, thy hand yet faster holding, And so forget my fear.
O soul, O soul, rejoice! Thou art God's child indeed, for all thy sinning; A trembling child, yet his, and worth the winning With gentle eyes and voice.
The words like echoes flow. They are too good; mine I can call them never; Such water drinking once, I should feel ever As I had drunk but now.
And yet He said it so; ‘ Twas He who taught our child-lips to say, Father! Like the poor youth He told of, that did gather His goods to him, and go.
Ah! Thou dost lead me, God; But it is dark; no stars; the way is dreary; Almost I sleep, I am so very weary Upon this rough hill-road.
Almost! Nay, I do sleep. There is no darkness save in this my dreaming; Thy Fatherhood above, around, is beaming; Thy hand my hand doth keep.
This torpor one sun-gleam Would break. My soul hath wandered into sleeping; Dream-shades oppress; I call to Thee with weeping, Wake me from this my dream.
And as a man doth say, Lo! I do dream, yet trembleth as he dreameth; While dim and dream-like his true history seemeth, Lost in the perished day;
( For heavy, heavy night Long hours denies the day ) so this dull sorrow Upon my heart, but half believes a morrow Will ever bring thy light.
God, art Thou in the room? Come near my bed; oh! draw aside the curtain; A child's heart would say Father, were it certain That it did not presume.
But if this dreary bond I may not break, help Thou thy helpless sleeper; Resting in Thee, my sleep will sink the deeper, All evil dreams beyond.
Father! I dare at length. My childhood, thy gift, all my claim in speaking; Sinful, yet hoping, I to Thee come, seeking Thy tenderness, my strength.
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