For little children spent with toil,
For little children worn with pain,
I ask a gift of healing oil—
Say, shall I ask for it in vain?
For, since our days are filled with woe,
And all the paths are dark and chill,
This thought may cheer us as we go,
And bring us light and comfort still;
This, this may stay our faltering feet,
And this our mournful minds beguile:—