CHILDREN indeed are we-children 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 us-shivering 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-crown-d;
And now this late-night cometh on apace-
We hold each other-s hands and look around,
Frighted at our own shades! Heaven send us grace!
When He returns, all will be sleeping sound.