Another oddity from my mother's papers

I pray when risen from the dead,
I may in glory stand
Perhaps a crown upon my head -
Four needles in my hand.

I never learnt to sing or play,
So let no harp be mine;
From childhood to my dying day
Knitting’s been my line.

And so, accustomed to the end
In plying useful stitches,
I’ll be content if given to knit
The little angels’ britches.