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 elapsed her to my breast,
And the dear voice softly whispered―
“Mamma, God knows all the rest.”
—Selected.