English poem
Life’s Matins
by Mary Howitt (1799–1888)
At that sweet hour of even, When nightingales awake, Low bending o’er her first-born son, An anxious mother spake.
“Thou child of prayer and blessing, Would that my soul could know, What the unending future holds For thee of joy or woe.
“Thy life, will it be gladness, A sunny path of flowers;— Or strift, with sorrow dark as death, Through weary, wintry hours?
“Oh child of love and blessing, Young blossom of life’s tree— My spirit trembles but to think What time may make of thee!
“Yet of the unveiled future Would knowledge might be given!” Then voices of the unseen ones Made answer back from heaven.