CHILDREN indeed are wechildren 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 usshivering 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-crownd;
And now this latenight cometh on apace
We hold each others hands and look around,
Frighted at our own shades! Heaven send us grace!
When He returns, all will be sleeping sound.
We Are Children
written byWilliam Cosmo Monkhouse
© William Cosmo Monkhouse