No one will run to put his slippers on.

And not a soul but me Knows just exactly how he likes his tea.

It rends my heart to think I cannot go And minister to him. . . .

I know. I know.

Then, there are other things, Dear Lord . . . more little strings That pull my heart. Now Baby feels her feet She loves to run outside into the street And Jane's hands are so full, she'll never see. . . .

And I'm quite sure the clean clothes won't be aired-- At least, not properly.

And, oh, I can't, I really can't be spared-- My little house calls so!

I know.

And I am waiting here to help and bless.

Lay down your head. Lay down your hope- lessness And let Me speak.

You are so weary, child, you are so weak.

But let us reason out The darkness and the doubt; This torturing fear that tosses you about.

I hold the universe. I count the stars.

And out of shortened lives I build the ages. . . .

But, Lord, while such high things Thy thought engages, I fear--forgive me--lest Amid those limitless eternal s.p.a.ces Thou shouldest, in the high and heavenly places, Pa.s.s over my affairs as things of nought.

There are so many houses just like mine.

And I so earth-bound, and Thyself Divine.

It seems impossible that Thou shouldst care Just what my babies wear; And what John gets to eat; . . . and can it be A circ.u.mstance of great concern to Thee Whether I live or die?

Have you forgotten then, My child, that I, The Infinite, the Limitless, laid down The method of existence that I knew, And took on Me a nature just like you?

I laboured day by day In the same dogged way That you have tackled household tasks.

And then, Remember, child, remember once again Your own beloveds . . . did you really think-- (Those days you toiled to get their meat and drink, And made their clothes, and tried to under- stand Their little ailments)--did you think your hand, Your feeble hand, was keeping them from ill?

I gave them life, and life is more than meat; Those little limbs, so comely and so sweet.

You can make raiment for them, and are glad, But can you add One cubit to their stature? Yet they grow!

Oh, child, hands off! Hands off! And leave them so.

I guarded hitherto, I guard them still.

I have let go at last. I have let go.

And, oh, the rest it is, dear G.o.d, to know My dear ones are so safe, for Thou wilt keep.

Hands off, at last! Now, I can go to sleep.

In Convalescence

Not long ago, I prayed for dying grace, For then I thought to see Thee face to face.

And now I ask (Lord, 'tis a weakling's cry) That Thou wilt give me grace to live, not die.

Such foolish prayers! I know. Yet pray I must.

Lord help me--help me not to see the dust!

And not to nag, nor fret because the blind Hangs crooked, and the curtain sags be- hind.

But, oh! The kitchen cupboards! What a sight!

'T'will take at least a month to get them right.

And that last cocoa had a smoky taste, And all the milk has boiled away to waste!

And--no, I resolutely will not think About the saucepans, nor about the sink.

These light afflictions are but temporal things-- To rise above them, wilt Thou lend me wings?

Then I shall smile when Jane, with towzled hair (And lumpy gruel!), clatters up the stair.

Homesick

I shut my eyes to rest 'em, just a bit ago it seems, An' back among the Cotswolds I were wanderin' in me dreams.

I saw the old grey homestead, with the rickyard set around, An' catched the lowin' of the herd, a pleasant, homelike sound.

Then on I went a-singin', through the pastures where the sheep Was lyin' underneath the elms, a-tryin' for to sleep.

An' where the stream was tricklin' by, half stifled by the gra.s.s, Heaped over thick with b.u.t.tercups, I saw the corncrake pa.s.s.

For 'twas Summer, Summer, SUMMER!

An' the blue forget-me-nots Wiped out this dusty city and the smoky chimbley pots.

I clean forgot My Lady's gown, the dazzlin' sights I've seen; I was back among the Cotswolds, where me heart has always been.

Then through the sixteen-acre on I went, a stiffish climb, Right to the bridge, where all our sheep comes up at shearin' time.

There was the wild briar roses hangin'

down so pink an' sweet, A-droppin' o' their fragrance on the clover at my feet An' here me heart stopped beatin', for down by Gatcombe's Wood My lad was workin' with his team, as only my lad could!

"COME BACK!" was what the tricklin' brook an' breezes seemed to say.

"'TIS LONESOME ON THE COTSWOLDS NOW THAT MARY DREW'S AWAY."

An' back again I'm goin' (for me wages has been paid, An' they're lookin' through the papers for another kitchen maid).

Back to the old grey homestead, an' the uplands cool an' green, To my lad among the Cotswolds, where me heart has always been!

On Washing Day

"I'm going to gran'ma's for a bit My mother's got the copper lit; An' piles of clothes are on the floor, An' steam comes out the wash-house door; An' Mrs. Griggs has come, an' she Is just as cross as she can be.

She's had her lunch, and ate a lot; I saw her squeeze the coffee-pot.

An' when I helped her make the starch, She said: 'Now, Miss, you just quick march!

What? Touch them soap-suds if you durst; I'll see you in the blue-bag first!'

An' mother dried my frock, an' said: 'Come back in time to go to bed.'

I'm off to gran'ma's, for, you see, At home, they can't put up with me.