My Cradle

     Thy two loving palms, my cradle of delight,
     Close on my soul like sun on happy shade,
     Like warm praying fields of corn sweet and bright,
     Like soft moss and crisp grass on still soil of a glade.

     Wide and long I stretched in clasps of wild thyme,
     In sweet fragrance, in greenery beauty-rooted,
     And with Thee, my Mother, my prayer I rhyme.
     By my rapture-cry the whole world is muted.

     In Thy loving palms I lie, a bundle of bliss,
     And in wide open skies Thy Heart-throbs I seek.
     From vaults of light falls a trembling sun-kiss,
     A golden drop of Grace on my happy cheek.

     Blue winged birds swaying on Thy magic thread
     Before my enchanted gaze to Thy hands fly,
     In a heaven of smiles that for me Thou hast spread
     Rock my dreams to tunes of Thy Lullaby.

     Let me learn to fly where the blue winged bird flies
     And sway for ever on the swing of Thy beam.
     Let me grow to sweep the shining floors in Thy Skies
     And build vast and proud vaults for Thy White Fiery Dream.
                                                                            

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