"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,
"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.