Marguerite Wilkinson

THIS was the blessing of his draught of power,

And this the sudden ripple of her hope,

And the swift current of their great desire,

The eddying wonder of their silent hours,

The rising floodtide of her agony,

The billowing beauty of the Infinite,

Borne in, a miracle, upon the shallows

Of their small, individual human lives.

Yet is it but a little human babe,

Given at last into his reaching arms

And carried to the hollow of her breast!