THE CHILDLESS
They give the savings of their life—the dreams,
The hopes of youth, the care of yearning years,
The tender fostering, the love austere
That served by chastening, the prayers unheard
Except by God—all, all the priceless hoard
Of love that goes to make a son, a man,
They give all this—with sorrow, yet with joy.
It may be they shall have their gift again
In time to come; it may be they shall have
For their one comfort that they gave their all
To help God's Kingdom come. . . .
And we—(O God,
Thou knowest why!) who have no sons to give,
We lend our gold that shall be paid again
With interest. So small a thing it seems!
And yet—these are the savings of our life,
And there is nothing petty in Thy sight.
Accept, O God, our offering—'tis to Thee.