THE LITTLE MAID'S AMEN.
By Gospel Expositor
A rustle of robes as the anthem
Soared gently away on the air—
The Sabbath morn's service was over,
And briskly I stepped down the stair;
When close, in a half-illumined corner,
Where the tall pulpit stairway came down,
Asleep crouched a tender, wee maiden,
With hair like a shadowy crown. Quite puzzled was I by the vision,
But gently to wake her I spoke,
When, at the first word, the small damsel
With one little gasp straight awoke.
“What brought you here, fair little angel?”
She answered with voice like a bell:
“I tam, too; I've dot a sick mamma,
And want 'oo to please prayer her well!” “Who told you?” began I; she stopped me:
“Don't nobody told me at all;
And papa can't see 'cause he's cryin',
And, sides, sir, I isn't so small;
I've been here before with my mamma,
We tummed when you ringed the big bell;
And ev'ry time I's heard you prayin'
For lots o' sick folks to dit well.” Together we knelt on the stairway,
As humbly I asked the Great Power
To give back her health to the mother,
And banish bereavement's dark hour.
I finished the simple petition,
And paused for a moment—and then,
A sweet little voice at my elbow
Lisped softly a gentle “Amen!” Hand in hand we turned our steps homeward,
The little maid's tongue knew no rest;
She prattled, and mimicked, and caroled—
The shadow was gone from her breast;
And lo!—when we reached the fair dwelling—
The nest of my golden-haired wife—
We found that the dearly loved mother
Was past the dread crisis—and safe. They listened amazed at my story,
And wept o'er their darling's strange quest,
While the arms of the pale, loving mother
Drew the brave little head to her breast;
With eyes that were brimming and grateful
They thanked me again and again—
Yet I know in my heart that the blessing
Was won by that gentle “Amen.”