Classic Poem

To make perfect the heaven of mothers
The little children die,
For what care they for the praise of God
Who have sung a lullaby?

The arms that have ached with nursing
Would ache with their emptiness
Were there no little children
To fondle and caress.

And while the saints and angels
Sing loud in adoring throngs,
God hears the mothers and children
Singing their crooning songs.