<h2><SPAN name="page87"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>WHEN BABY SOULS SAIL OUT</h2>
<p class="poetry">When from our mortal vision<br/>
Grown men and women go<br/>
To sail strange fields Elysian<br/>
And know what spirits know,<br/>
I think of them as tourists,<br/>
In some sun-gilded clime,<br/>
’Mong happy sights and dear delights<br/>
We all shall find, in time.</p>
<p class="poetry">But when a child goes yonder<br/>
And leaves its mother here,<br/>
Its little feet must wander,<br/>
It seems to me, in fear.<br/>
What paths of Eden beauty,<br/>
What scenes of peace and rest,<br/>
Can bring content to one who went<br/>
Forth from a mother’s breast?</p>
<p class="poetry">In palace gardens, lonely,<br/>
A little child will roam<br/>
And weep for pleasures only<br/>
Found in its humble home.<br/>
<SPAN name="page88"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>It is not
won by splendour,<br/>
Nor bought by costly toys;<br/>
To hide from harm on mother’s arm<br/>
Makes all its sum of joys.</p>
<p class="poetry">It must be when the baby<br/>
Goes journeying off alone,<br/>
Some angel (Mary, may be)<br/>
Adopts it for her own.<br/>
Yet when a child is taken<br/>
Whose mother stays below,<br/>
With weeping eyes, through Paradise,<br/>
I seem to see it go.</p>
<p class="poetry">With troops of angels trying<br/>
To drive away its fear,<br/>
I seem to hear it crying,<br/>
“I want my mamma here.”<br/>
I do not court the fancy,<br/>
It is not based on doubt,<br/>
It is a thought that comes unsought<br/>
When baby souls sail out.</p>
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