How many have clasped thee
In sickness and death?
How many have clung
In tears of distress?
How many cried out
In labour and pain
All for the birth of a bairn?
How many have tossed
On this mattress of straw?
The lovers, the lonely.
It?s held them all.
So many dreams, this bed could recall.
If it had a voice,
How it could tell,
Of the heights of the heavens
The depths of the hells
How many have lain
In this cradle of straw?
How many - in peace and content?
So many souls,
Rested, restored, from being spent
In this haven of rest our Lord has sent,
We awake to the morning,
By God?s good consent.
© Elizabeth Anderson 1975
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