Chapter 45

with his arms folded, and his eyes fixed on the floor_.

_Julian_. I see her as I saw her then. She sat On a low chair, the child upon her knees, Not six months old. Radiant with motherhood, Her full face beamed upon the face below, Bent over it, as with love to ripen love; Till its intensity, like summer heat, Gathered a mist across her heaven of eyes, Which grew until it dropt in large slow tears, The earthly outcome of the heavenly thing! [_He walks toward the window, seats himself at a little table, and writes_.]

THE FATHER'S HYMN FOR THE MOTHER TO SING.

My child is lying on my knees; The signs of heaven she reads: My face is all the heaven she sees, Is all the heaven she needs.

And she is well, yea, bathed in bliss, If heaven is in my face-- Behind it, all is tenderness, And truthfulness and grace.

I mean her well so earnestly. Unchanged in changing mood; My life would go without a sigh To bring her something good.

I also am a child, and I Am ignorant and weak; I gaze upon the starry sky, And then I must not speak;

For all behind the starry sky, Behind the world so broad, Behind men's hearts and souls doth lie The Infinite of God.

If true to her, though troubled sore, I cannot choose but be; Thou, who art peace for evermore, Art very true to me.

If I am low and sinful, bring More love where need is rife; _Thou_ knowest what an awful thing It is to be a life.

Hast thou not wisdom to enwrap My waywardness about, In doubting safety on the lap Of Love that knows no doubt?

Lo! Lord, I sit in thy wide space, My child upon my knee; She looketh up unto my face, And I look up to thee.