The Sleepless Jesus

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The Sleepless Jesus

’Tis time to sleep, my little boy:

Why gaze thy bright eyes so?

At night our children, for new joy

Home to thy father go,

But thou art wakeful! Sleep, my child;

The moon and stars are gone;

The wind is up and raving wild,

But thou art smiling on!

My child, thou hast immortal eyes

That see by their own light;

They see the children’s blood⁠—it lies

Red-glowing through the night!

Thou hast an ever-open ear

For sob or cry or moan:

Thou seemest not to see or hear,

Thou only smilest on!

When first thou camest to the earth,

All sounds of strife were still;

A silence lay about thy birth,

And thou didst sleep thy fill:

Thou wakest now⁠—why weep’st thou not?

Thy earth is woe-begone;

Both babes and mothers wail their lot,

But still thou smilest on!

I read thy face like holy book;

No hurt is pictured there;

Deep in thine eyes I see the look

Of one who answers prayer.

Beyond pale grief and wild uproars,

Thou seest God’s will well done;

Low prayers, through chambers’ closed doors,

Thou hear’st⁠—and smilest on.

Men say: “I will arise and go;”

God says: “I will go meet:”

Thou seest them gather, weeping low,

About the Father’s feet;

And each for each begin to bear,

And standing lonely none:

Answered, O eyes, ye see all prayer!

Smile, Son of God, smile on.