When Baby Souls Sail Out

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