From the Rock Island Argus, April 9, 1914. By Henry Howland.
Oft through the dark my little one
Comes stealing softly to my bed,
To clamber in and cuddle down
And on my bosom lay his head;
I hear him whisper coaxingly:
“Please let me sleep with you tonight,”
And as he nestles close to me
His childish fears are put to flight.
Ah, if he knew how weak, how frail
Am I in whom he puts his trust,
How blindly and how oft I fail,
How oft my face is in the dust,
He would not rush to me when fear
Comes with her sable wings outspread;
The faith he has when I am near
Would cease to bring him to my bed.
Some day perchance they’ll bring him where
I long have slept, from visions free;
And weeping, they may leave him there
To lie serenely close to me.
Oh may I hear him, trusting, say
As he is reaching upward then,
“Please, father, I have come to lay
My head upon your breast again.”
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