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��GROWLER GRIMES DREAM. 287
Look thou ! Upon a couch of pain
A baby weak and helpless lies ; Can you give back the rosy life
That seems just nearing paradise ? Behold ! Two angels bear the child
Just near enough for God to kiss, Then give it back to mother-arms
To keep a while. Could you do this?
When sore temptation trod the verge,
And you came very near to fall, Yet bounded back, you thought, O man,
Your staunch resolve had done it all. See ! Yonder in the farm-house small,
From which goes up a quiv ring cry, A gray-haired man lifts up his hands :
Thou, Lord, canst keep the boy not I.
Oh, Growler Grim, walk softly now,
Draw nearer with unshodden feet, Lest step of thine may never fall
Along that golden Upper Street ! Give back to Him His gifts to thee
Through these, His poor, lest haply He, In that bright harvesting to come,
Alas ! may not remember thee !"
��When Growler Grim, out in the night, Sought humble homes of want and care,
With softened speech and open purse, How all the working-folks did stare !
�� �
