Sleep, by Abbott Henderson Thayer
Dear Lord, I bring to Thee my son
Whose tender years have scarce begun.
In this wee frame I know full well
A living soul has come to dwell
Who needs Thee now at childhood’s gate,
Ere he shall grow to man’s estate.
I covenant through hours apart
To pray for him with fervent heart,
To teach Thy Word with winsome voice
By day and night until his choice
Be but Thy blood for sin’s deep stain,
And my small son is born again.
Then onward shall I pray the more
And teach Thy precepts o’er and o’er,
That he may grow, each boyhood hour,
By Thine indwelling risen power,
Lord, some small boys with none to care
Will never hear a mother’s prayer;
Prepare my son with love aflame
To reach them with Thy saving name.
And make him, Lord, a polished tool,
A learner in Thy highest school.
A mother’s part seems, oh, so frail!
But Thy strong arm can never fail.
To teach, to pray, to stand are mine;
Expectantly I yield to Thee
The little boy Thou gavest me.
~Louise B. Eavey
And so with each passing year, my prayer is still the same~from when they were young until now ~ ‘expectantly I yield to Thee the little boys you gave to me’.
Thanks for reading!