A Mother's Question

What mother-angel tended thee last night,Sweet baby mine?Cradled upon what breast all soft and whiteDidst thou recline?

Who took thee, frail and tender as thou art,Within her arms?And shielded thee, close claspéd to her heart.From all alarms?

Surely that God who lured thee from the breastThat hoped to beThe softest pillow and the sweetest restThenceforth to thee,

Sent thee not forth into the dread unknownWithout a guide,To grope in darkness, treading all aloneThe path untried.

Compassionate is He who called thee, child;And well I knowHe sent some Blessed One of aspect mildWith thee to go

Through the dark valley, where the shadows dimForever brood,That the low music of an angel's hymnMight cheer the solitude!