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George MacDonald - The Children`s Heaven
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The infant lies in blessed ease
Upon his mother`s breast;
No storm, no dark, the baby sees
Invade his heaven of rest.
He nothing knows of change or death—
Her face his holy skies;
The air he breathes, his mother`s breath;
His stars, his mother`s eyes!

Yet half the soft winds wandering there
Are sighs that come of fears;
The dew slow falling through that air—
It is the dew of tears;
And ah, my child, thy heavenly home
Hath storms as well as dew;
Black clouds fill sometimes all its dome,
And quench the starry blue!

"My smile would win no smile again,
If baby saw the things
That ache across his mother`s brain
The while to him she sings!
Thy faith in me is faith in vain—
I am not what I seem:
O dreary day, O cruel pain,
That wakes thee from thy dream!"

Nay, pity not his dreams so fair,
Fear thou no waking grief;
Oh, safer he than though thou were
Good as his vague belief!
There is a heaven that heaven above
Whereon he gazes now;
A truer love than in thy kiss;
A better friend than thou!

The Father`s arms fold like a nest
Both thee and him about;
His face looks down, a heaven of rest,
Where comes no dark, no doubt.
Its mists are clouds of stars that move
On, on, with progress rife;
Its winds, the goings of his love;
Its dew, the dew of life.

We for our children seek thy heart,
For them we lift our eyes:
Lord, should their faith in us depart,
Let faith in thee arise.
When childhood`s visions them forsake,
To women grown and men,
Back to thy heart their hearts oh take,
And bid them dream again.
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