Martinsburg Gazette

Often in the morning when we waken, we

hear a little childish voice, saying, "Come

Bobby, let's say our prayer," and then to-

gether both little voices offer up that most

beautiful of all petitions—

"Our Father which art in heaven"

All over the world, in castle and hall, by

the prince and by the peasant, is that most

beautiful prayer repeated; but above all it

sounds sweetest when lisped by the sunny

haired child at its mother's knee. Mark the

little bending form, the hair put softly back,

the tiny white hands folded, and the reverend

glance bent towards her, as though it saw a

Saviour in its mother's eyes.

Blessed little children! what a dreary waste

what a wide and fruitless wilderness would

this be without them! How often the toil-

ing mother wakes almost despairing; there is

no food in the house—her ceaseless labor

will hardly buy bread. As she looks upon

the red sun rising with sad forebodings; and

knows not how she shall procure a meal for

her little ones, sweetly steal upon her senses

the murmuring of infant voices. She listens.

Her babes are looking trustily towards heav-

en. They have hushed their sports, and

kneeling together by their poor couch, they

say—

"Give us this day our daily bread."

Her soul grows strong within her; she

knows God will never forsake, and with tears

she thanks Him that she ever taught them

how to pray.