My Child and Thine

By Ellen Jakeman

The long day ends. My little weary child
Comes confidently to my sheltering arms,
And nestles on my bosom restfully.
The long, dark night has for her no alarms.

My Father, when earth’s day is done for me
May my soul rest confidingly on Thee.

The dainty dress was torn – shoes stained with mud,
From paths forbidden to her straying feet.
I could not punish, for her tears fell fast,
Her sorrow and repentance seemed complete.

When my feet stray, O Father, Friend, and God,
Accept my tears, and spare the chastening rod.

Is she not mine? and so I understand
Her wayward moods – the spring of her desires.
When patience should be given, long drawn out,
And quick response to earth’s celestial fires.

When I am wayward, stretch out mercy’s hand,
Thou art my Father, and will understand.

There is no thought between us as she sleeps,
Of strife that marked the passing of the day,
I smile, remembering but the dear, sweet things
The hands or lips have found to do or say.

Bury my sins, O Father, fathoms deep,
When on Thy bosom I shall fall asleep.

(1906)