TEACH us, dear Lord, all that it means to say
The words, Our Father, when we kneel to pray,
Our Father thou, then every child of thine
Is, by the bond, a brother, Lord, of mine.
Teach us, dear Lord, all that it means to say
Thy will be done, when we kneel down to pray—
Thy will be done—then our proud wills must break
And lose themselves in love for Thy dear sake.
Teach us, dear Lord, all that it means to say
Give us our daily bread, when thus we pray;
We will be trustful when we understand,
Nor grasp the loaf from out a brother’s hand.
Teach us, dear Lord, all that it means to say,
Forgive our trespasses, when, meek, we pray;
Forgive! the word was made in Paradise,
And this world’s hope and faith within it lies.
Teach us, dear Lord, all that it means to say
The words Christ gave us, when we kneel to pray,
For when we know and live their meaning deep,
No heart will need to break, no eyes to weep.
Jack
JACK’S dead an’ buried, it seems odd,
A deep hole covered up with sod
A lyin’ out there on the hill,
An’ Jack, as never could keep still,
A sleepin’ in it. Jack could race,
And do it at a good old pace,
Could sing a song, an’ laugh so hard
That I could hear him in our yard
When he was half-a-mile away.
Why not another boy could play
Like him, or run, or jump so high,
Or swim, no matter how he’d try,
An’ I can’t get it through my head
At all, at all, that Jack is dead.
Jack’s mother didn’t use to be
So awful good to him an’ me,
For often when I’d go down there
On Saturday’s, when it was fair,
To get him out to fish or skate,
She’d catch me hangin’ round the gate,
An’ look as cross as some old hen,
An’ tell me, “Go off home again,
It’s not the thing for boys,” she’d say,
“A hangin’ round the creek all day,
You go off home and do your task,
No, Jack can’t go, you needn’t ask,”
An’ when he got in scrapes, why, she
Would up and lay it on to me,
An’ wish I lived so far away
Jack couldn’t see me every day.
But last night when I’d done the chores,
It seemed so queer like out of doors,
I kept a listenin’ all the while
An’ looking down the street a mile;
I couldn’t bear to go inside,
The house is lonesome since he died,
The robber book we read by turns
Is lyin’ there—an’ no boy learns
All by himself, ’cause he can’t tell
How many words he’ll miss or spell,
Unless there’s someone lookin’ on
To laugh at him when he gets done.