Thistle Down

By Ethel

Richard

Laying there before me,
So stockily built.
I looked at him sleeping,
Wrapped up in a quilt.

I was proud of his coming,
From those realms above.
So we could get to know him,
And give him our love.

He knew not his heritage,
Nor what was in store.
Nor the talents that were given,
From those gone before.

Will he bring to us honor?
Will he make his life straight?
Will he preach from a pulpit?
Will men call him great?

My son...lying before me,
Will I forget pain?
Will he live with the righteous?
And God's will sustain.


E.P. 1908 - 1989

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