[Lyric] XVII. To My Three Children - Arthur William Anne Belle (Florence Churchill Casebeer)

My children are my own interpreters
Of this strange modern world of ours,
That seems to yield no keys, no pass, no powers
Into my hands, unless perchance the spurs
That now and then I loan, and there occurs
So grave a doubt, such hounding of the hours,
I choose to trust the child, that never cowers
That I may share his lot, whate'er incurs.
One sweeps the univers, unseen but heart;
One loafs along the field, the stream, the height;
One delves into the mind's rich vein of ore.
And Mother-like I pray some magic word
Of mine be near, if tears should blind their sight,
And may my love illumine more and more.