The letters I get from my little ones,
Are sure to end up like this―
A score of kisses, row upon row,
And every cross is a kiss,
And through the miles that separate
My little ones from me,
I feel the tug of their tiny arms,
And each loving face I see.
“Every cross is a kiss,” they say;
My crosses are never few;
They wait for me when I wake at dawn,
They follow the long day through.
I never dreamed God sent them in love,
Ah! me, what Good I miss
When I push away with angry hands,
The cross that God means for a kiss.
Anon.