HOW BABY WENT TO CHURCH.
By Eleanor A. Hunter
Our little brown-eyed baby—
She is not three years old—
With round cheeks brown and rosy,
And brown hair touched with gold,
Always on Sunday mornings
To church pleads hard to go,
But she is yet so little
Her mother answers, “No.” Then the brave eyes grow cloudy,
The small mouth, red and sweet,
Has such a piteous tremble
As we go down the street,
That I, one Sunday morning,
Said, “You may go to-day;
We’ll stand outside the window
And hear them sing and pray.” Her face grew bright, “But, auntie,
Will you let Dan go too?”
Dan is her tawny mastiff,
A friend and comrade true.
Dan went; he leaped and barked
For joy all down the street,
While, fast as they could follow,
Sped baby’s tiny feet. We neared the church; then said I,
“Will you and Dan be good?
The church is God’s house, darling;
Has baby understood?”
Four gentle brown eyes gravely
Looked up into my face;
Dear dog and darling baby
My meaning tried to trace. With hand upon his collar
She led him, and I smiled,
He seemed so like a lion
Led by a little child.
Beneath the painted window
She spoke one whispered word,
And down he dropped beside her,
As he the signal heard. Just then from out the window
A flood of music poured,
The one grand sentence chanted,
“Glory to thee, O Lord!
Amen!” Her face was shining;
She whispered to me then,
“They’re singing, ‘Now I lay me;’
I heard them say, ‘Amen.’” And there throughout the service
The baby kept her place,
And lifted toward the window
Her reverent little face.
“I love God,” said she softly—
’Twas all her little creed—
“I love God, and he loves me.”
Of more she had no need. And He who blessed the children
Long since with love divine,
Most surely blessed her also—
This little lamb of mine.
And when the last hymn sounded,
We softly came away,
And no one knew who worshiped
Outside the church that day.
—Eleanor A. Hunter.