Written a long time ago
Sometimes I get to sighing
And wish that I could see
The Saviour come a-knocking
I'd tell Him all my troubles
(Guess that isn't very nice,)
And listen very quietly
To His gentle, wise, advise.
"Lord, the little one's are fussing,
And I don't know what to do:
Do I blame too much on sister
Do I blame too much on sister
When brother's guilty, too?
And Lord, you know the dishes
Are waiting to be done,
But the children all are resting
And I'm the weary one.
Should I pursue them with a vigor
And ignore my aching head,
Or is it more submissive
To recline upon the bed?
Yes, Lord there are so many things,
Yes, Lord there are so many things,
You see them one and all:
The crumbs beneath the table,
The marks upon the wall.
The little girl is aiming;
Should I cuddle her right now
She complains of aching limbs, y'know:
I touch her fevered brow.
I touch her fevered brow.
I guess I could ask hubby,
He is your Messenger,
And just accept whate'er he says
And with some faith endure.
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