All their childish sports were over,
All their mimic work was done,
And they came and knelt beside me,
Hushed and solemn, one by one.
Meekly were their soft hands folded,
And, with young heads lowly bowed,
Softly fell their ' Our Father,'
As a star-beam through a cloud.
When the solemn prayer was ended,
And the last ' Good-night' was told,
From my lap the baby clambered,
Tiny waif, a twelvemonth old.
Dimpled hands were clasped together,
Blue eyes raised with reverent grace,
While a look of sweet devotion
Gathered on his cherub face.
Wherefore came that mute appealing?
Wherefore,was his white soul stirred,
Ere his crimson lips had parted
With the first low, trembling word?
Could an earnest wish be prisoned
In the Eden of his heart ?
Did a prayer for heavenly guidance
From that stainless spirit start?
'Uttered not, yet comprehended,
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer,'
To my ear the whisper floated
As I watched him kneeling there;
Gazed and murmured, 'Meet for heaven
Are the prayers of such as he;
Innocence, in silent pleading,
At the throne of Purity.'
Then I thought of all the lessons
Taught by Him, the Undefiled ;
Most I loved His simple sermon
With this text, 'A little child.'
And these sacred words seemed uttered:
' Humble, trusting, free from sin,
As the babe who kneels beside thee,
Must thou be to enter in.'
