The
tearful child stood looking down
Into the fresh made hole,
Where
he had placed his little pet,
With sorrow in his soul.
hen
turning his sweet face to me,
Who stood close by,
He
asked me in childish wonderment,
“What made Jip die?”
I
was the humble gardener,
And loved the little dear;
And
answered him in earnestness,
“God wanted him, I fear.”
Then,
turning to the sky above,
With tearless eye,
He
asked, as if he were alone,
“I wonder why?”
Full
Many years have passed since then,
And oft that childish thought,
Proceeding
from the mouths of men,
My listening ear has caught.
When
God performs his wisest deeds,
We search the sky,
Unmindful
of his promises,
And wonder why.
Feb.
8, ‘93
Pub.
in Cambridge Press
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