we children played in a queer old street

that persistently seemed to hide,

itself and us in a kindly way

from the great wide world outside.

and how we loved in our childishness

god’s work on the sea and land.

but death was secretive, dark and deep,

and never showed us his hand.

with awe we gazed on his work, sad work

and the flutter of ribbons white,

made us all catch hands, hold our breath and sob

in our restless dreams at night.

when a baby came to our queer old street

so downy and vague and new,

we tiptoed out of the soft, dark room,

and the mystery grew and grew.

but many things we have learned since then

for life has a strange sad way,{53}

we left the hills and the queer old street

where we used to shout and play.

one of the things we have learned is this:

tho’ death rides around rough shod,

back of our births and our deaths and our loves

is the all-kind heart of god.