BLESSINGS, blessings on the beds 

Where pillows softly bear 

Rows of little shining heads, 

That have never known a care.

Pity for the heart that bleeds

In the homestead desolate, 

Where no little troubling needs

Make the weary working wait.

Safely, safely to the fold

Bring them, wheresoe'er they be, 

Thou, who saidst to them, of old, 

"Suffer them to come to me."


Alice Gary