A Face.

Between the curtains of snowy lace,
Over the way, is a baby's face.
It peeps forth, smiling in merry glee,
And waves its pink little hand at me.

My heart responds with a lonely cry.
But in the wonderful By-and-by,
Out from the window of God's "To Be,"
That other baby shall beckon to me.

That ever haunting and longed for face,
That perfect vision of infant grace,
Shall shine on me in a splendour of light,
Never to fade from my eager sight.

All that was taken shall be made good--
All that puzzles me, understood ;
And the wee white hand that I lost one day,
Shall lead me into the better way.

                                    --Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The North Carolinian [Elizabeth City, NC] 9 Nov. 1887: 1.

Courtesy of John M. Freiermuth.


Back to Poem Index