The Unfinished Prayer

"Now I lay,"

"Repeat it, darling."


"Lay me," lisped the tiny lips of my daughter,

kneeling, bending o'er her folded finger-tips.


"Down to sleep"

- "To sleep," she murmured, and, the curly head bent low



"I pray the Lord," I gently added. "You can say it all, I know."



"Pray the Lord"

- the sound came faintly,



Fainter still...

"My soul to keep."



Then the tired head fairly nodded,

and the child...



was fast asleep.



But the dewy eyes half opened when I clasped her to my breast,
and the dear voice softly whispered,

"Mamma, God knows all the rest."

Oh, the trusting, sweet confiding of the child heart!
Would that I thus might trust my Heavenly Father.
He, who hears my feeblest cry.


Anonymous.