Dearest, how hard it is to say 
  That all is for the best, 
Since, sometimes, in a grievous way 
  God's will is manifest. 

See with what hearty, noisy glee 
  Our little ones to-night 
Dance round and round our Christmas tree 
  With pretty toys bedight. 

Dearest, one voice they may not hear, 
  One face they may not see -- 
Ah, what of all this Christmas cheer 
  Cometh to you and me? 

Cometh before our misty eyes 
  That other little face, 
And we clasp, in tender, reverent wise, 
  That love in the old embrace. 

Dearest, the Christ-child walks to-night, 
  Bringing his peace to men, 
And he bringeth to you and to me the light 
  Of the old, old years again. 

Bringeth the peace of long ago, 
  When a wee one clasped your knee 
And lisped of the morrow -- dear one, you know -- 
  And here come back is he! 

Dearest, 't is sometimes hard to say 
  That all is for the best, 
For, often, in a grievous way 
  God's will is manifest. 

But in the grace of this holy night 
  That bringeth us back our child, 
Let us see that the ways of God are right, 
  And so be reconciled.

At the Death of a Child
by Edgar Guest

“I’ll lend you for a little while
A child of mine,” He said.
“For you to love the while he lives
And mourn when he is dead.
It may be six or seven years, or
Twenty two or three,
But will you ’til I call him back,
Take care of him for Me?
He’ll bring his charms to gladden you,
And should his days be brief,
You’ll have his lovely memories
As solace for your grief.
I cannot promise he will stay,
Since all from earth return,
But there are lessons taught down there
I want this child to learn.
I’ve looked this wide world over
In my search for teachers true,
And from the throngs that crowd life’s lane,
I have selected you.
Now will you give all your love,
Nor think the labor vain,
Nor hate Me when I come to call
To take him back again?”

I fancy that I heard them say,
“Dear Lord, Thy will be done.
For all the joy this child shall bring,
The risk of grief we’ll run;
We’ll shelter him with tenderness,
We’ll love him while we may,
And for the happiness we’ve known
Forever grateful stay.
But should the angels call for him,
Much sooner then we’ve planned,
We’ll brave the bitter grief that comes
And try to understand.”

I count my treasures o'er with care,--- 
  The little toy my darling knew, 
  A little sock of faded hue, 
A little lock of golden hair. 

Long years ago this holy time, 
  My little one -- my all to me -- 
  Sat robed in white upon my knee, 
And heard the merry Christmas chime. 

"Tell me, my little golden-head, 
  If Santa Claus should come to-night, 
  What shall he bring my baby bright, -- 
What treasure for my boy?" I said. 

And then he named this little toy, 
  While in his round and mournful eyes 
  There came a look of sweet surprise, 
That spake his quiet, trustful joy. 

And as he lisped his evening prayer 
  He asked the boon with childish grace; 
  Then, toddling to the chimney-place, 
He hung this little stocking there. 

That night, while lengthening shadows crept, 
  I saw the white-winged angels come 
  With singing to our lowly home 
And kiss my darling as he slept. 

They must have heard his little prayer, 
  For in the morn, with rapturous face, 
  He toddled to the chimney-place, 
And found this little treasure there. 

They came again one Christmas-tide, -- 
  That angel host, so fair and white; 
  And, singing all that glorious night, 
They lured my darling from my side. 

A little sock, a little toy, 
  A little lock of golden hair, 
  The Christmas music on the air, 
A watching for my baby boy! 

But if again that angel train 
  And golden-head come back for me, 
  To bear me to Eternity, 
My watching will not be in vain.