"WHO PRAYED LAST NIGHT."
DAY after day had the sun shone out
Till the earth was choking with dust and drought,
And millions of blossoms on hill and plain
Were almost dead for the want of rain.
All through the meadows the heads of wheat
Bent low with the long-continued heat,
And the farmer murmured, "No crop of grain
Shall I harvest this year if it doesn't rain!"
The clouds hung heavy in hearts that knew
How much depended on rain and dew.
And tears were plenty as days went by;
But clouds and tears were not in the sky.
Our Willie noticed the frown that lay
On his father's forehead from day to day,
And longed to banish with loving art
The fears that troubled the farmer's heart.
"Mamma, do you think that God would hear
If I prayed for rain?" "Why, of course, my dear,"
Was the mother's earnest and prompt reply.
"Well, then," said Willie, "I mean to try."
At bedtime, Willie, o'ercome with play,
Forgot the prayer that he meant to say;
But the angels, watching his slumbers, guessed
The thought that quivered within his breast.
Next morn all over the thirsty plain
Was heard the steady drip of rain,
And Willie, o'erjoyed at the welcome eight,
Exclaimed, " Why, mamma, who prayed last night?"