To My Unborn Son
"My boy!" What a wonderful phrase!
We're counting the months till you come to us -
The months, and the weeks, and the days!
"The new little stranger," some babes are called,
But that's not what you're going to be;
With double my Virtues and half of my faults,
You can't be a stranger to me!
Your mother is straight as a sapling plant,
The cleanest and best of her clan -
You're bone of her bone, and flesh of her flesh,
And, by heaven, we'll make you a man!
Soon I shall take you in two strong arms -
You that shall howl for joy -
With a simple, passionate, wonderful pride
Because you are just - my boy!
And you shall lie in your mother's arms,
And croon at your mother's breast,
And I shall thank God I am there to shield
The two (in my case, the seven!) that I love the best.
A wonderful thing is a breaking wave,
And sweet is the scent of spring,
But the silent voice of an unborn babe
Is God's most beautiful thing.
We're listening now to that silent voice
And waiting, your mother and I -
Waiting to welcome the fruit of our love
When you come to us by and by.
We're hungry to show you a wonderful world
With wonderful things to be done,
We're aching to give you the best of us both
And we're lonely for you - my son!
~Captain Cyril Morton Thorne