Page:Flower of youth, poems in war time, Tynan, 1915.djvu/78

76 Tender nurslings born in pain,

Mother's comfort, mother's grief,

When her tears run down like rain,

Lord, bring Thou a handkerchief.

Wipe the widow's tears away,

Father orphan boys and girls.

Lead them out where they may play,

With Thy hand upon their curls.