SO many things there might have been,
Had our dear child not died.
We count them up and call them o’er,
We weigh the less against the more,—
The joy she never knew or shared,
The bitter woes forever spared,
The dangers turned aside,
Heaven’s full security,—and then
Perplexed we sigh,—all might have been.
We might have seen her sweet cheeks glow
With love’s own happy bloom,
Her eyes with maiden gladness full,
Finding the whole world beautiful;
We might have seen the joyance fail,
The dear face sadden and grow pale,
The smiles fade into gloom,
Love’s sun grow dim and sink again,—
Either of these it might have been.
We might have seen her with the crown
Of wifehood on her head,
A queen of home’s fair sovereignties,
With little children at her knees;
Or, broken-hearted and alone,
Bereft and widowed of her own,
Mourning beside her dead,—
This thing or that, beyond our ken,
It might have been, it might have been.
There is no need of question now,
No doubts or risks or fears:
Safe folded in the Eternal care,
Grown fairer each day and more fair,
With radiance in the clear young eyes
Which in cool depths of Paradise
Look without stain of tears,
Reading the Lord’s intent, and then
Smiling to think what might have been.
We too will smile, O dearest child!
Our dull souls may not know
The deep things hidden from mortal sense,
Which feed thy heavenly confidence.
On this one sure thought can we rest,
That God has chosen for thee the best,
Or else it were not so;
He called thee back to Heaven again
Because he knew what might have been.