Not Long Ago, I Prayed For Dying Grace, For Then I Thought To See Thee Face To Face. And Now I Ask (Lord, 'Tis A Weakling'S Cry) That Thou Wilt Give Me Grace To Live, Not Die. Such Foolish Prayers! I Know. Yet Pray I Must. Lord Help Me -- Help Me Not To See The Dust! And Not To Nag, Nor Fret Because The Blind Hangs Crooked, And The Curtain Sags Behind. But, Oh! The Kitchen Cupboards! What A Sight! 'T'Will Take At Least A Month To Get Them Right. And That Last Cocoa Had A Smoky Taste, And All The Milk Has Boiled Away To Waste! And -- No, I Resolutely Will Not Think About The Saucepans, Nor About The Sink. These Light Afflictions Are But Temporal Things -- To Rise Above Them, Wilt Thou Lend Me Wings? Then I Shall Smile When Jane, With Towzled Hair (And Lumpy Gruel!), Clatters Up The Stair.