And then, one day, when the time was full,
  And the spring was coming fast,
The tender grace of a life outbloomed,
  And you saw your baby at last.

Was it or not what you had dreamed? 
  It was, and yet it was not;
But O, it was better a thousand times
  Than ever you wished or thought.

II.

And now, dear hearts, you are waiting again,
  While the spring is coming fast;
For the baby that was a future dream
  Is now a dream of the past: 

A dream of sunshine, and all that’s sweet;
  Of all that is pure and bright;
Of eyes that were blue as the sky by day,
  And as clear as the stars by night.

You are waiting again for the fulness of time,
  And the glory to be revealed;
You are wondering deeply with aching hearts
  What treasure is now concealed.

O, will she be this, or will she be that? 
  And what will there be in her face
That will tell you sure that she is your own,
  When you meet in the heavenly place?

As it was before, it will be again,
  Fashion your dream as you will;
When the veil is rent, and the glory is seen,
  It will more than your hope fulfil.

JOHN WHITE CHADWICK.

FOR CHARLIE’S SAKE.

The night is late, the house is still;
The angels of the hour fulfil
Their tender ministries, and move
From couch to couch in cares of love. 
They drop into thy dreams, sweet wife,
The happiest smile of Charlie’s life,
And lay on baby’s lips a kiss,
Fresh from his angel-brother’s bliss;
And, as they pass, they seem to make
A strange, dim hymn, “For Charlie’s sake.”

My listening heart takes up the strain,
And gives it to the night again,
Fitted with words of lowly praise,
And patience learned of mournful days,
And memories of the dead child’s ways. 
His will be done, His will be done! 
Who gave and took away my son,
In “the far land” to shine and sing
Before the Beautiful, the King,
Who every day does Christmas make,
All starred and belled for Charlie’s sake.

For Charlie’s sake I will arise;
I will anoint me where he lies,
And change my raiment, and go in
To the Lord’s house, and leave my sin
Without, and seat me at his board,
Eat, and be glad, and praise the Lord. 
For wherefore should I fast and weep,
And sullen moods of mourning keep? 
I cannot bring him back, nor he,
For any calling, come to me. 
The bond the angel Death did sign,
God sealed—­for Charlie’s sake, and mine.

I’m very poor—­this slender stone
Marks all the narrow field I own;
Yet, patient husbandman, I till
With faith and prayers, that precious hill,
Sow it with penitential pains,
And, hopeful, wait the latter rains;
Content if, after all, the spot
Yield barely one forget-me-not—­
Whether or figs or thistle make
My crop content for Charlie’s sake.