As I have seen a child,
Round-eyed and innocent,
Leaving his treasured playthings piled
Where new adventure overtook,
Climb up a little staired ascent,
Holding in fear his parent's hand,
And trepidant with fresh alarms
Yet gathering courage from each trustful look,
With utter confidence in a last command,
Fling himself laughing into his father's arms—

So I, another child,
Holding my Father's hand,
Now from my busy arts beguiled
By what He promises beyond,
Forgetting all that I have planned,
And pressing on with faith's sure sight
O'er rock and ridge, through mists and storms,
With confidence that swallows up despond,
From the last crag of life's most glorious height
Cast me exultant into my Father's arms.

~ A. W. Spalding

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