Poems (Curwen)/God's Gift

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God's Gift.
The Angel of Life, as he passed our way, Paused at my door at the break of day,   And found me sore distressed; And for comfort left a little child, Then Pain and I were reconciled   As the babe clung to my breast. "'Tis my Lord's gift," the Angel said, And, departing, left me comforted.
O swift transition from the dark abyss Of misery to heights of purest bliss!  O rapture born of pain! Mine eyes with grateful tears were dim, My trembling lips were fain to hymn  A glad thanksgiving strain, So full was my fond heart with joy As my arms encircled my baby boy.
And as I close and closer pressed The dear wee face to my throbbing breast,  I cried: "Dear Heaven this—This last most precious gift of Thine—This new life given to me and mine— Sweet compensation is For all the weary days and hours I've spent in suffering's dreary bowers."
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O baby mine! O little innocent! Whom the great Lord of Life has sent  From mystic babyland; O little soul! so pure and white, Spark from the one great Source of Light  Lit by Divine command: God keep thee without spot or stain Till He recalls thee Home again!

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