LEARNING TO PRAY.
Kneeling, fair, in the twilight gray,
A beautiful child was trying to pray;
His cheek on his mother's knee,
His bare little feet half hidden,
His smile still coming unbidden,
And his heart brimful of glee.
"I want to laugh. Is it naughty? Say,
O mamma! I've had such fun to-day,
I hardly can say my prayers—
I don't feel just like praying;
I want to be out-doors playing,
And run, all undressed, down stairs.
"I can see the flowers in the garden bed,
Shining so pretty and sweet and red;
And Sammy is swinging, I guess.
Oh! everything is so fine out there,
I want to put it all in my prayer,
(Do you mean I can do it by 'Yes'?)
"When I say, 'Now I lay me,' word for word,
It seems to me as if nobody heard.
Would 'Thank you, dear God,' be right?
He gave me my mother,
And papa, and brother—
O mamma! you nodded I might."—
Clasping his hands and hiding his face,
Unconsciously yearning for help and grace,
The little one now began.
His mother's nod and sanction sweet
Had led him close to the dear Lord's feet,
And his words like music ran.
"Thank you for making this home so nice,
The flowers, and folks, and my two white mice
(I wish I could keep right on).
I thank you too for every day—
Only I'm 'most too glad to pray
Dear God, I think I am done.
"Now, mamma, rock me—just a minute—
And sing the hymn with 'darling' in it.
I wish I could say my prayers!
When I get big, I know I can,
Oh! won't it be nice to be a man,
And stay all night down stairs!"
The mother, singing, clasped him tight,
Kissing and cooing her fond "Good night,"
And treasured his every word;
For well she knew that the artless joy
And love of her precious, innocent boy
Were a prayer that her Lord had heard.
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