Into The World You Came, And I Was Dumb, Because "God Did It," So The Wise Ones Said; I Wonder Sometimes "Did You Really Come?" And "Are You Truly . . . Dead?" Thus You Went Out -- Alone And Uncaressed; O Sweet, Soft Thing, In All Your Infant Grace, I Never Held You In My Arms, Nor Pressed Warm Kisses On Your Face! But, In The Garden Of The Undefiled, My Soul Will Claim You . . . You, And Not Another; I Shall Hold Out My Arms, And Say "My Child!" And You Will Call Me "Mother!"