In infancy, we trust to God those blessings given us,
But as fruition finds them grown, have we still heart to trust?
For infancy knows many dreams of height and voice and climb,
But trust we still the Savior, with growth not matched by time?
Full maturation is His boon--a boon in His own way--
His thoughts match not our thoughts, oft times; His ways match not our ways.
He uses for an orator, the one who cannot speak;
He chooses not the mighty to confound, but calls the weak.
To suit the battle beyond odds, he takes the trembling hand,
Empowers it to act, and thus, He takes the land.
Anointed to be king?--The youngest and the least.
After God's own heart?--The one caught in a tryst.
Mother of the wisest?--A woman fallen low.
Mother of the Highest?--She who said, "Lord, be it so."
So let us trust in infancy, the plan that's gone awry,
The child who's gone astray, the dream that's passed us by;
And do not think the one who's small, cannot be nobly borne,
Nor think the servant who is mute, may not announce the morn,
For what is done is not about perfection, rank, or trade;
But rather, it has all to do, with God, by whom we're made.
For He who authored infancy sees best around the bend
And knowing all, He rightly joins--the past, and now, and then.