| |
| NOW, my son, is life for you, | |
| And I wish you joy of it,— | |
| Joy of power in all you do, | |
| Deeper passion, better wit | |
| Than I had who had enough, | 5 |
| Quicker life and length thereof, | |
| More of every gift but love. | |
| |
| Love I have beyond all men, | |
| Love that now you share with me— | |
| What have I to wish you then | 10 |
| But that you be good and free, | |
| And that God to you may give | |
| Grace in stronger days to live? | |
| |
| For I wish you more than I | |
| Ever knew of glorious deed, | 15 |
| Though no rapture passed me by | |
| That an eager heart could heed, | |
| Though I followed heights and sought | |
| Things the sequel never brought. | |
| |
| Wild and perilous holy things | 20 |
| Flaming with a martyr’s blood, | |
| And the joy that laughs and sings | |
| Where a foe must be withstood, | |
| Joy of headlong happy chance | |
| Leading on the battle dance. | 25 |
| |
| But I found no enemy, | |
| No man in a world of wrong, | |
| That Christ’s word of charity | |
| Did not render clean and strong— | |
| Who was I to judge my kind, | 30 |
| Blindest groper of the blind? | |
| |
| God to you may give the sight | |
| And the clear, undoubting strength | |
| Wars to knit for single right, | |
| Freedom’s war to knit at length, | 35 |
| And to win through wrath and strife, | |
| To the sequel of my life. | |
| |
| But for you, so small and young, | |
| Born on Saint Cecilia’s Day, | |
| I in more harmonious song | 40 |
| Now for nearer joys should pray— | |
| Simpler joys: the natural growth | |
| Of your childhood and your youth, | |
| Courage, innocence, and truth: | |
| |
| These for you, so small and young, | 45 |
| In your hand and heart and tongue. | |
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