Life’s Matins

At that sweet hour of even,
When nightingales awake,
Low bending o’er her first-born son,
An anxious mother spake.

“Thou child of prayer and blessing,
Would that my soul could know,
What the unending future holds
For thee of joy or woe.

“Thy life, will it be gladness,
A sunny path of flowers;—
Or strift, with sorrow dark as death,
Through weary, wintry hours?

“Oh child of love and blessing,
Young blossom of life’s tree—
My spirit trembles but to think
What time may make of thee!

“Yet of the unveiled future
Would knowledge might be given!”
Then voices of the unseen ones
Made answer back from heaven.