Eleanor Farjeon (Элинор Фарджон)
A Christening
This day we are met to set a name On thy mysterious dust and flame, That in the years to follow, when Thy feet shall walk the ways of men, Thou mayst according to his plan Be known thereby to man. O being undiscoverable! Thy name thyself will never spell. Whate’er thou art, whate’er wilt be, Man’s tongue will never utter thee; Towering upon thy inmost throne Thou shalt of none be known. We watch in wonder how thy brow Grows strange and silent in sleep, and how Even more silent and more strange Thy waking is that brings no change When thy dim dreams of slumber press To dimmer dreamlessness. But looking with a love that seems To pierce thy undiscovered dreams, Within thy small unfolded being Some dream of our own making seeing, “All that she feels and dreams,” we say, “We too will know one day.” Ah, even when human speech has come To make thy mouth no longer dumb, When quickened thought and sympathy Like angels look from either eye, Thyself will still be hidden as deep As now, awake, asleep. We must our knowledge of thee still By nothing save by love fulfil, And with the dreamings of the heart Still guess at the dream of what thou art Which only of thee and God is known, Child whom this day names Joan.
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