HOUSEWIFE by LEXIE DEAN ROBERTSON

THERE is a certain quiet joy
That comes with tasks well done
About a simple cottage home
From dawn till setting sun.

Blue china, steaming hot from suds,
And pies, fresh-baked, in rows,
Crisp ruffled curtains laundered white
That beckon when wind blows.

The kitchen floor is scrubbed and clean,
The polished windows shine,
And bits of blue come peeping through
Where morning glories twine.

And everywhere the pleasant noise
Of happy childhood's play
To lift the heart and turn the soul
Half consciously to pray.

And as I go from room to room
To order each with care
I wish that in such homelikeness
Some kindly guest could share.

Then on my stoop at eventide
When I take time to sum
The blessings that the day has brought
I find that God has come.

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