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 splendor 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.