A tender child of summers three,
Seeking her little bed at night,
Paused on the dark stair timidly;
“O mother, take my hand,” said she,
“And then the dark will all be light.”
We older children grope our way
From dark behind to dark before,
And only when our hands we lay
Dear Lord, in thine, the night is day,
And there is darkness nevermore.
SEL.