Hugh, A Child Poem by Nora Jane Hopper Chesson

Not star or flower, but lovelier than these
The child came to us out of mysteries,
And to the Giver
We prayed that He should lay upon His gift
Wisdom and health and sweetness, that his days
Might flow like some fair river,
Might go as bright and lightly as the ways
Of a bird's wing in the blue summer lift.


Now all the stars and all the flowers are his
Near and dear neighbours; but our portion is
Sorrow and discontent,
Because so little way the child's feet went
In this our twisting pathway, that they knew
Only that grass was soft and speedwell blue-
Not breath or touch of failure, little Hugh!


And I, the stranger, make a song for him,
The little child, run truant into dim
Countries of dreams fulfilled,
More dear and fair
Perhaps than here our visions for him were;
And I, who knew his love not, share his lack
And fain would help his kindred call him back;
But, being helpless, stand and see him pass
Heavenwards again ere dew dries off the grass
Or glow is off the dream-house we did build.


I that would speak of comfort give no more
Than foolish tears on handle of a door
Fast bolted, that drop down like bitter myrrh.
My hand is on the latch I dare not move:
I stand outside the room of death and love-
The mother's sacred room of love and grief.
Here comfort withers like an autumn leaf,
And hope's sweet eyes are dim,
And none save she may seek to comfort him,
And none, save God, may pass and pity her,
Save God, the Giver,
Who has the lambs in charge, and having given,
Borrows, but takes not back, and in His heaven
Gives the child a long life-yea, for ever and ever!