Grandma's Prayer

I pray that risen from the dead,
I may in glory stand--
A crown, perhaps, upon my head,
But a needle in my hand.

I've never learned to sing or play,
So let no harp be mine
From birth until my dying day,
Plain sewing's been my line.

Therefore, accustomed to the end
To plying useful stitches
I'd be content if asked to mend
The little angel's britches.

By Eugene Field from "Poems of Childhood"