February 27

I would not have it so. Weary and worn,

Why not to thee run straight, and be at rest?

Motherward, with toy new, or garment torn,

The child that late forsook her changeless breast,

Runs to home's heart, the heaven that's heavenliest:

In joy or sorrow, feebleness or might,

Peace or commotion, be thou, Father, my delight.