The church was dim and silent
With the hush before the prayer,
Only the solemn trembling
Of the organ stirred the air;
Without, the sweet, still sunshine;
Within, the holy calm
Where priest and people waited
For the swelling of the psalm.
Slowly the door swung open,
And a trembling baby girl,
Brown-eyed, with brown hair falling
In many a wavy curl,
With soft cheeks flushing hotly,
Shy glances downward thrown,
And small hands clasped before her,
Stood in the aisle alone.
Stood half abashed, half frightened,
Unknowing where to go,
While like a wind-rocked flower,
Her form swayed to and fro,
And the changing color fluttered
In the little troubled face,
As from side to side she wavered
With a mute, imploring grace.
It was but for a moment;
What wonder that we smiled,
By such a strange, sweet picture
From holy thoughts beguiled?
Then up rose someone softly:
And many an eye grew dim,
As through the tender silence
He bore the child with him.
And I—I wondered (losing
The sermon and the prayer)
If when sometime I enter
The “many mansions” fair,
And stand, abashed and drooping,
In the portal’s golden glow,
Our God will send an angel
To show me where to go!