And he waited for the answer till his head began to tire;
Then he turned towards his corner, and lay huddled in a heap,
Closed his little eyes so gently, and was quickly fast asleep.
Oh, I wish that every scoffer could have seen his little face
As he lay there in the corner, in that damp and noisome place;
For his countenance was shining like an angel’s, fair and bright,
And it seemed to fill the cellar with a holy, heavenly light.
He had only heard of Jesus from a ragged singing girl,
He might well have wondered, pondered, till his brain began to whirl;
But he took it as she told it, and believed it then and there,