A PRAYER FOR MY SON
 
 BID a strong ghost stand at the head
 That my Michael may sleep sound,
 Nor cry, nor turn in the bed
 Till his morning meal come round;
 And may departing twilight keep
 All dread afar till morning's back.
 That his mother may not lack
 Her fill of sleep.
 Bid the ghost have sword in fist:
 Some there are, for I avow
 Such devilish things exist,
 Who have planned his murder, for they know
 Of some most haughty deed or thought
 That waits upon his future days,
 And would through hatred of the bays
 Bring that to nought.
 Though You can fashion everything
 From nothing every day, and teach
 The morning stats to sing,
 You have lacked articulate speech
 To tell Your simplest want, and known,
 Wailing upon a woman's knee,
 All of that worst ignominy
 Of flesh and bone;
 And when through all the town there ran
 The servants of Your enemy,
 A woman and a man,
 Unless the Holy Writings lie,
 Hurried through the smooth and rough
 And through the fertile and waste,
 protecting, till the danger past,
 With human love.