Tiny seed of my body,
Blessed fruit of my womb,
Would that I might guide thee
Even beyond the tomb.
Would that I might nourish thee,
Watch thee,
Weed thee,
Love thee,
Lead thee,
Would that I might light thee
Against the darkest doom.
Budding love of my love,
Flower-breath of my sigh,
Would that I might home thee
In heaven after we die.
Would that I might strengthen thee,
Root thee,
Raise thee,
Ripe thee,
Reap thee,
Would that I could gain thee
Celestial worlds on high.
Precious child of my bearing,
Cherished spirit child of God,
Would that I might keep thee
From the choking sod.
Would that though might drink
From the waters of His laud.
Would that thou might be
White harvest grain of God.
- Joanne Ward
