And I knelt on the threshold in low, fervent prayer.
* * * * *
“Why, papa,” a little voice called soft and clear,
As she climbed on my knee and kissed off a tear,
“What a long nap you’ve had; why mamma’s at tea,
Now, papa, wake up and come on with me.”
“My darling!” I whispered, and pressed to my face
A cheek that was soft as a billow of lace.
“What if the old home can not weather the storms
When a foretaste of Heaven I hold in my arms.”