Little One Whose Hands Are Stilled

O little one whose hands are stilled,
O little one of mine,
I would not call you back to earth:
The joy to hold you in my arms again,
It is not worth
The pain to see
You drink of sorrow’s wine.

O little one whose sunny smile
Has always been so dear,
I press and fold your little clothes:
Within my heart there is a weight of stone:
Ah! No one knows
How lone I feel
To find you are not here.

O little one God’s gift of you
Was heart and soul of me:
But through my own fond foolish way
Of loving you too much, I lost you too.
I found that day
Unto all life
I held unused the key.

Yet, even yet, the hurt is there,
O little one of mine:
Though God has tamed my will so wild
Words will not come: dear Lord, help me to pray
As when a child:
So may I trust
The will of the Divine.

O little one whose baby lips
Were suckled at my breast,
Help me to walk my Calvary:
Hold back the bitterness in me until
It leaves me free:
So will I find
In memory, my rest.

– Circa 1936