Those dear little feet
went pattering by,
Wandering off into June’s
morning sky.
They crept not back
to the love they left;
Or climbed nevermore
into arms bereft.
Some day I shall hear
them pattering nigh;
Tiny steps a thousand times
more sweet in the sky.
I joy to think
that the Father’s care,
will hold them safe
’till I greet them there!
| Mary G. Hill |