Bedtime in Galilee by Bernice Rice

When the little Jesus had been fed

And warmly covered in His bed,

I wonder, if like other folks,

His mother told Him little jokes.

Or if she washed His little shirt

All soiled from playing in the dirt,

And smoothed it out with loving care

Before she hung it on a chair.

Then, after she had fixed a latch,

Sat quietly and sewed a patch.

Perhaps she tiptoed with the lamp

To see if Jesus' curls were damp.

I wonder if she knelt and prayed

About the bills that were unpaid.

These precious bedtimes Mary had

Before she lost her little lad.