Our darling cried, “I guess I’ll speak
About it to the Lord!”
He sank upon his bended knee,
And clasped his hands in prayer,
While, like a glory, from his brow
Streamed back his golden hair.
“O Lord!” he said, “dear grandma’s sick;
We don’t know what to do!
If I could only make her well,
I’m sure I would. Won’t you?”