Between the curtains of snowy lace,
Over the way is a baby’s face;
It peeps forth, smiling in merry glee,
And waves its pink little hand at me.
My heart responds with a lonely cry—
But in the wonderful By-and-By—
Out from the window of God’s “To Be,”
That other baby shall beckon to me.
That ever haunting and longed-for face,
That perfect vision of infant grace,
Shall shine on me in a splendor of light,
Never to fade from my eager sight.
All that was taken shall be made good;
All that puzzles me understood;
And the wee white hand that I lost, one day,
Shall lead me into the Better Way.