To A Young Mother Poem by Alfred Gibbs Campbell

I

Another life from Life's Fountain,
Hath flowed through thy life into being,
And entered a deathless existence.
The sun may go down in a darkness
Which never a dawn-streak shall follow;
The stars may stray from their orbits
And be found not again forever;
The earth may, by fires internal,
Be burned into stark desolation;
But thy first-born, little Almeda,
Will live, and live on, while God lives.


II

Here is work for thy heart, and thy brain, and thy soul;
This innocent, plastic immortal
Is God's beneficent task to thee, Mother!
In eternity will thy work be examined and tested.
God's workwoman now, thou holdest a high commission.
Those little feet shall walk in the paths thou directest;
Those little hands shall work good or ill at thy option;
Those little eyes shall dance to the music of thy glances;
That little heart shall beat to the measure of thy own heart-throbs;
That little soul shall expand with divine aspirations
Or grow loveless and stunted, as thou willest.
Behold then thy task, O! Mother; wisely survey it.
An angel might covet a work of such grandeur and glory;
Dost thou shrink back appalled and affrighted?


III

God is not an Egyptian! For every task he appointeth,
He also ordaineth the requisite strength and materials.
He knows poor humanity's trials and weakness,
He well understands its tremulous shrinking and faintness,
And never His humblest worker had labor allotted,
Which God was not willing to share with him more than half.


IV

God waits but thy asking to meet thee.
Art thou weakness? He is strength overflowing.
Art thou ignorance? He is wisdom, a fountain exhaustless.
Art thou darkness? He is light supernal, obscureless.
Art thou poverty? He is wealth beyond computation.
And more than this, O, mother, He is love and He loves thee.
His infinite heart yearns over thee and thy task.
Open wide to Him the doors of thy soul!
He will enter and fill it with love, which is God,
And therefore is all that thou needest!