The Busy day is over, The household work is done; The cares that fret the morning Have faded with the sun; And in the tender twilight, I sit in happy rest, With my precious rosy baby Asleep upon my breast. White lids with silken fringes Shut out the waning light; A little hand close folded, Holds mamma’s fingers tight; And in their soft white wrappings, At last in perfect rest, Two dainty feet are cuddled, Like birdies in a nest. All hopes and loves unworthy Fade out at this sweet hour; All pure and noble longings Renew their holy power; For Christ, who in the Virgin Our motherhood has blest, Is near to every woman With a baby on her breast.
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Poems of Home: I. About Children