My Babies by Emma Dorothy Rose

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Washington, D.C. · Oct 22, 1903

My Babies

By Emma Dorothy Rose

EMMA DOROTHY ROSE

Out of my arms grew my babies, And into my heart crept a pain At the thought that no more in the future Will they hold my own babies again.

And the pain is akin to a heart-break, And my empty arms long to be filled As of old; but in vain is the longing: Soon my heart will forever be stilled.

Yes, the children grown up prove me aged, But my heart is as young as of yore; Yet my empty arms fill me with sadness, For they'll hold my own babies no more.

O, my long-ago babies, I love you! My heart yearns to take you again In my empty arms, aching to hold you, Where of old you so often have lain.

I would cuddle you up close, my babies, With your little forms pressed to my heart, And your little heads laid on my bosom, And I'd nevermore let you depart.

I am glad that I loved so my babies, Though their growing up fills me with pain; For I always may keep the remembrance, And in memory hold them again.

Though my empty arms still remain empty, And my lonely heart aches in its grief, I must bear it the rest of my journey, And death will then bring me relief.

And then, in the presence of Jesus, I will have peace instead of pain; And my heart, satisfied with his likeness, Will not long for my babies again.