He left, that day, for the world's sharp cold—
no money, no work, feet poorly shod,
coat frayed—oh, my child! He was not very old,
but he had his hand in the hand of God!
I trusted my Father, and watched from afar:
saw my child fall in tunnels, and love his way through,
master temptations, triumph in war;
then, turn loose God's hand! Oh, keenly I knew
I had grown vain—proud of my son
who was actually God's! How I prayed to renew
my own grip on God—leave nothing undone
of the work that He gave me daily to do!
I loved—loved—loved! And one day I heard
my son to his own child earnestly preaching:
"Whatever the odds, keep your hand in God's,
and your heart in accord with our Master's teaching!"
