Classic Poem

My home is not so great;
But open heart I keep.
The sorrows come to me,
That they may sleep.

The little bread I have
I share, and gladly pray
To-morrow may give more,
To give away.

Yes, in the dark sometimes
The childish fear will haunt:
How long, how long, before
I die of want?

But all the bread I have,
I share, and ever say,
To-morrow shall bring more
To give away.