Poetry Archives

I thought myself indeed secure,
  So fast the door, so firm the lock;
But, lo! he toddling comes to lure
  My parent ear with timorous knock.

My heart were stone could it withstand
  The sweetness of my baby’s plea,—
That timorous, baby knocking and
  “Please let me in,—it’s only me.”

I threw aside the unfinished book,
  Regardless of its tempting charms,
And opening wide the door, I took
  My laughing darling in my arms.

Who knows but in Eternity,
  I, like a truant child, shall wait
The glories of a life to be,
  Beyond the Heavenly Father’s gate?

And will that Heavenly Father heed
  The truant’s supplicating cry,
As at the outer door I plead,
 “‘T is I, O Father! only I”?