PRAYER.
89
To the little voices crying, Faint with hunger, chilled and cold,Oh! the half of human sorrow, Ne'er was written, sung, or told.
Down upon the cheerless floor, The anguished mother bends the knee."Father, to thy care commending, These, the little children three,Thou who knowest every heart-throb, That thy suffering children feel,Thou whose care that never faileth, Guideth e'en the sparrow's fall."
"Send thy blessing, loving Savior, Down upon this heart so weak,Shield me from the dire temptation, That daily, hourly, I must meet.Ever resting in thy strength, Trusting in thy wise command,For I know thou holdest ever, In the hollow of thy hand,Thy children, Father let the sunlight, Of thy glory pierce the night."
******
Round the cheerful fire are gathered, The mother, and her manly boys,Are the dreary past forgotten, In the present's heartfelt joys.
