CHILDREN indeed are we—children that wait <br />Within a wondrous dwelling, while on high <br />Stretch the sad vapors and the voiceless sky; <br />The house is fair, yet all is desolate <br />Because our Father comes not; clouds of fate <br />Sadden above us—shivering we espy <br />The passing rain, the cloud before the gate, <br />And cry to one another, “He is nigh!” <br />At early morning, with a shining Face, <br />He left us innocent and lily-crown’d; <br />And now this late—night cometh on apace— <br />We hold each other’s hands and look around, <br />Frighted at our own shades! Heaven send us grace! <br />When He returns, all will be sleeping sound.<br /><br />William Cosmo Monkhouse<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/we-are-children/
