p. 12 | WHEN BABY PRAYS by A. J. Waterhouse

Pacific Press Publishing Company · OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA · Nov 22, 1899

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 25, No. 47.

WHEN BABY PRAYS.

By A. J. Waterhouse

WHEN baby by her crib at night Enfolds her little hands to pray— Dear little hands, so soft and white— I listen while the sweet lips say, “Now I 'ay me down to s'eep, I p'ay the Lord my soul to teep;” And listening years are backward rolled; The past is as a tale untold.

And, standing by my mother mild— Dear mother, with your hair of white— Again I am a little child, And say again, as yester night, “If I s'ould die before I wate, I p'ay the Lord my soul to tate;” And half it seems in baby’s plea The olden faith comes back to me.

Ah, me! I know my faith is but A phantom of the long ago, Yet when my babe, with eyelids shut, Repeats the words I used to know, “Now I 'ay me down to s'eep, I p'ay the Lord my soul to teep;” Someway, someway, the world doubts flee; The old, sweet faith comes back to me.

It comes again, the old, sweet faith; It is my own, it is my own, And doubt has fled, the gloomy wraith, Before a baby’s words alone, “If I s'ould die before I wate, I p'ay the Lord my soul to tate.” So for a baby’s lisping plea My thanks, dear Lord, my thanks to Thee. —A. J. Waterhouse.