Child of my hope, a promise given —
No earthly fate too sweet could be ;

And thou must have died and grown up in Heaven,
To have half the virtues I hoped for thee.
Child of my hope thou art.
Child of my prayers, I have kept the wires
That bear our petitions up to the King,

Untiringly burdened with my desires,
And now, as I wait for His answering,

Child of my prayers thou art.
Child of my love, I never knew

How Christ loves us till I saw thy face.
There was nothing too great for me to do.
As I looked at its sweet, unconscious grace.
Child of my love thou art.
Poetry and Prose of Marie R. Butler. i^y



Child of my own, in my heart and brain

Has warmed the blood that now throbs in thine ;

Perhaps — do I wish it ? — ^who can explain ?
Is thy soul, dear child, a part of mine?

For child of my own thou art.
Child of my faith, thy face to-night

In the halo around the cross I see ;
And there may I see it with failing sight.
When I look my last on the cross and thee.
Child of my faith thou art.
And all the things I have done so ill.
Thou wilt do them better in better ways ;

And the things I did well, thou wilt do them still.
And paint thy mother in robes of praise

To a child of thine own dear heart.
GOING ON A JOURNEY.
All the house is full of bustle,
Up and down the hall and stairs

Busy people rush and rustle

Here and there and everywhere.
Some one 's going on a journey.
