UP TO THE INFANTS'
By H.A. Baker (1881-1971)
Come, parents, listen to this lay
Of children death has swept away
That tells how leaving earth below
They have escaped a life of woe
And born again to better state
Were wafted up to heaven's gate.
When death would snatch your child way
An angel robbed him of his prey;
The while your heart with grief was
Your child in angel arms was born
With lightning speed in upward flight
Beyond the realms of stars and night
Unto the palaces above
Where infants are of every land
The messengers to earth and men
When they return to heaven again
And In their arms their trophies hold
First pause without the gates of gold
And then in order enter in
Within the city thats foursquare—
The New Jerusalem so fair.
Though glory fills the whole domain
Yet glory differs plain from plain
As these in rank and order rise
As though suspended in the skies.
Each plain is perfect in its sphere
With palaces and parks of deer
Where beauties differ here again
As glories differ plain from plain.
A plain there is of pure delight
That is alone the children’s right
Who died while in their infancy
And still from sin were pure and free.
A park-like city of pure bliss
Whose avenues and golden streets
Converging from all quarters meet
Around the central home of all
Within this city s jasper wall.
A river from this center goes
And in increasing circles flows
Around it in a spiral way
In circles twelve whose waters stay
Like crystal clear and pure as snow;
It feeds the flowers and trees that grow
With fruit thats fragrant everywhere.
In parks around each mansion fair.
From homes of every earthly rank
Here children play upon the bank
Where race or hatred none can know
And love is like the stream's outflow.
The flowers are sweetest in this
The song is sweeter than the lark
Or any songs of children's day
That early death would take away.
Here children never weary run;
Here children see no setting sun.
The pleasures parents fain would give—
If God had let their children live—
In all their best and loving thought,
Compared with what our God hath wrought
Are as the dross compared with gold—
Their joy to mortals Is untold.
The infants pure from every race
Are so provided by God's grace
That each may have a home and place
Where it may see its angel's face
In jeweled mansions better far
Than man has seen an earthly hour.
These mansions differ as the stars
In realms beyond this realm of ours
In glories that are far above
The glories of terrestial love.
These children in their angels' care
Are classified in mansions there
According to their inner life,
For like must harmonize with like.
From rank to rank they then arise
To higher plains in higher skies
Within the city pure and bright
Whose life is Jesus' glory light.
The higher plains help those below,
And these in turn also bestow
Their love and care to all beneath
In helping weave a common wreath
To harmonize in one accord
The glories of their common Lord.
These infants gathered from the earth
Are nurtured on a better hearth
Within a better, happier land
Where Joys are from the Father's hand.
They're cradled in a cozy nest
Perfumed with flowers—the very best
That grow within that Park and land—
Which, gathered by the angel's hand,
Are clustered there in every hue
The infant life to thus endue
With power that from their petals shed
A halo round each infant's head.
The children hear the constant
That angel voice and harp affords,
Which bring their natures into line
With harmony that is divine.
There's rhythm in the angel's walk;
There!s music in the angels' ta!k;
There's rhythm, rhythm everywhere;
The music birds and children share.
The Christ appears to every child—
The Christ of love so meek and mild—
To bless these children every one
Who have the heavenly life begun.
His hand upraised in heavenly grace
Sheds forth His life Into each face
That held by angel arms, upturned
Receives the life our world has spurned.
Each child that goes to God must see
His Saviour die on
And so the children of his love
Are made to see him on the cross
Who counted heaven all a loss
That he might all the children save
Who found on earth an early grave.
His cross- became a part of all
That Jesus lifted from the fall
And in the infants' life is wrought
In such a way it matters not
What death, or hell, or devils say;
That life within is there to stay.
The angels see it in each one
From henceforth, when it is begun.
The cross is also in each child
Who's saved from all that's bad and wild—
From sin and evil here below—
Who everlasting life will know.
So if you'd see your child again
In mansions fair and free from sin,
You must have Jesus' cross within
And now the heavenly life begin.
'Tis Jesus' cross alone can save
the aged or children from the grave.
If in the cross you daily live,
Partake the grace the cross can give,
Your children who have gone before
To play upon that heavenly shore
You'll meet again in joy complete
Around the cross at Jesus' feet
And clasp them in eternal love
In park or mansion up above.
There's access such in heaven's land
That friends may meet, and hand in hand
They may unite in heaven's ways
To join in songs of endless praise
Where families that by death were riven
Rejoin in Father's home in heaven.