Learning to Pray

Kneeling fair in the twilight gray,
A beautiful child was trying to pray;
His cheek on his mother’s knee,
His little bare feet half hidden,
His smile still coming unbidden,
And his heart brim full of glee.

“I want to laugh. Is it naughty? say;
Oh, Mama! I’ve had such fun today,
I can hardly say my prayers;
I don’t feel just like praying,
I want to be outdoors, playing,
And run all undressed downstairs.

“I can see the flowers in the garden bed
Shining so pretty, and sweet and red,
And Sammy is swinging, I guess!
Ah, 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 mama,
And papa and Sammy—
Oh, Mama! 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 house 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, Mama, 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 downstairs.”

The mother singing, clasped him tight,
Kissed 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 prayers that her Lord had heard.

—from Sunbeams