LITTLE CHILDREN.
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