"And do you ever pray, my boy?"
"No, sir, I never tried,
I never heard a praying word
Since my poor Daddy died."
"Then let me teach you, little boy,
Just come now, let me see,—
I know you'll manage if you try,—
Now say it after me.
"Our Father,"—"Our Father,"—"right,"
"That art in heaven," "go on!"
Jimmy repeated every word,
Until the prayer was done.
Then turning up his hazel eyes,
Which questioning light shone through,
He said, "that prayer sounds very nice,—
Is He your Father too?"
"Yes, He is mine as well as yours,
And Lord of all you see."
"Far as I know, if that be so,
My brother you must be."
"Yes we are brethren, every one,
All equal in His sight."
"Well, I will try to think so, sir,
But I can't believe it quite.
"It seems so strange that you should be
Akin to such as me,
For you are rich, and great, and grand
And I'm so poor you see."
"But it is true, my little lad,
And if to Him you pray,
He'll make your little heart feel glad,—
He'll turn you not away."
"Well, if that's so, I'll learn to pray,
I'll take your kind advice,—
But if you are my brother,
Give me just one thicker slice.
"And if He's Father of us all,—
Now, as I'm going home,
From your big share perhaps you'll spare
Your widowed sister some?"