CHILDREN indeed are we—children that wait br Within a wondrous dwelling, while on high br Stretch the sad vapors and the voiceless sky; br The house is fair, yet all is desolate br Because our Father comes not; clouds of fate br Sadden above us—shivering we espy br The passing rain, the cloud before the gate, br And cry to one another, “He is nigh!” br At early morning, with a shining Face, br He left us innocent and lily-crown’d; br And now this late—night cometh on apace— br We hold each other’s hands and look around, br Frighted at our own shades! Heaven send us grace! br When He returns, all will be sleeping sound.