The Happy Hour

Mary Frances Butts (1890–1937)

THE BUSY day is over,

The household work is done;

The cares that fret the morning

Have faded with the sun;

And in the tender twilight,

I sit in happy rest,

With my precious rosy baby

Asleep upon my breast.

White lids with silken fringes

Shut out the waning light;

A little hand close folded,

Holds mamma’s fingers tight;

And in their soft white wrappings,

At last in perfect rest,

Two dainty feet are cuddled,

Like birdies in a nest.

All hopes and loves unworthy

Fade out at this sweet hour;

All pure and noble longings

Renew their holy power;

For Christ, who in the Virgin

Our motherhood has blest,

Is near to every woman

With a baby on her breast.