My wee one walked the narrow wall-
What child but hungers thus to go ?
Her eyes alert lest she should fall
On the rough bouldered pave below.
At length she stopped, and this her plea,
As though overfull of care her cup:"
Please, father, hold my hand for me,
So when I walk, I can look up."

My Father, when I walk the ways
That teem with pitfalls for my feet,
That baby-plea of by-gone days
Shall to my sorer need be meet.
When halting 'twixt fearfulness and care,
In strife with the contents of my cup,
" Hold Thou my hand," shall be my prayer, "
That while I walk, I may look up."