He begged me for the little toys at night,
That I had taken, lest he play too long,
The little broken toys--his sole delight.
I held him close in wiser arms and strong,
And sang with trembling voice the even-song.
Reluctantly the drowsy lids drooped low,
The while he pleaded for the boon denied.
Then, when he slept, sweet dream, content to know,
I mended them and laid them by his side
That he might find them in the early light,
And wake the gladder for this joyous sight.
So, Lord, like children, at the even fall
We weep for broken playthings, loath to part,
While Thou, unmoved, because Thou knowest all,
Dost fold us from the treasures of our heart;
And we shall find them at the morning-tide
Awaiting us, unbroke and beautified.
--_Ainslee’s Magazine._
(2389)