I knew a widow very poor,
Who four small children had;
The eldest was but six years old,
A gentle, modest lad.
And very hard this widow toiled
To feed her children four:
An honest pride the woman felt,
Though she was very poor.
To labor she would leave her home,
For children must be fed;
And glad was she when she could buy
A shilling's worth of bread.
And this was all the children had,
On any day to eat;
They drank their water, ate their bread,
But never tasted meat.
One day, when snow was falling fast,
And piercing was the air,
I thought that I would go and see
How these poor children were.
Ere long I reached their cheerless home,
'Twas searched by every breeze;
When going in, the eldest child
I saw upon his knees.
I paused, and listened to the boy,--
He never raised his head;
But still went on and said,--"_Give us_
_This day our daily bread._"
I waited till the child was done,
Still listening as he prayed;
And when he rose, I asked him why
The Lord's Prayer he had said.
"Why, sir," said he, "this morning, when
My mother went away,
She wept because, she said, she had
No bread for us to-day.
"She said, we children now must starve,
Our father being dead;
And then I told her not to cry,
For I could get some bread.
"_Our Father_, sir, the prayer begins,
Which makes me think that _He_,
As we have got no father here,
Would our kind father be.
"And then, you know, the prayer, sir, too,
Asks God for bread each day;
So, in the corner, sir, I went,
And that's what made me pray."
I quickly left that wretched room,
And went with fleeting feet;
And very soon was back again
With food enough to eat.
"_I thought God heard me_," said the boy;
I answered with a nod;
I could not speak; but much I thought
Of that child's _faith in God_.