A little poetry

A Mother's Prayer

I wash the dirt from little feet, and as I wash I pray,
"Lord, keep them ever pure and true to walk the narrow way."

I wash the dirt from little hands, and earnestly I ask,
"Lord, may they ever yielded be to do the humblest task."

I wash the dirt from little knees, and pray "Lord, may they be
the place where victories are won, and orders sought from Thee."

I scrub the clothes that soil so soon, and pray, "Lord may her dress
Throughout eternal ages be Thy robe of righteousness,"

E'er many hours shall pass, I know, I'll wash these hands again;
And there'll be dirt upon her dress before the day shall end.

But as she journey's on through life and learns of want and pain,
Lord, keep her precious little heart cleansed from all sin and stain;

For soap and water cannot reach where Thou alone can'st see.
Her hands and feet, these I can wash-I trust her heart to Thee.

B. Ryberg