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A SICK CHILD'S MEDITATION

Pain and weariness, aching eyes and head,
Pain and weariness all the day and night:
Yet the pillow's soft on my smooth soft bed,
And fresh air blows in, and mother shades the light.
Thou, O Lord, in pain hadst no pillow soft,
In Thy weary pain, in Thine agony:
But a cross of shame held Thee up aloft
Where Thy very mother could do nought for Thee.
I would gaze on Thee, on Thy patient face;
Make me like Thyself, patient, sweet, at peace;

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Make my days all love, and my nights all praise,
Till all days and nights and patient sufferings cease.