BLESSINGS, blessings on the beds Whose white 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 of them, of old, "Suffer them to come to me." |