"In the night, when God wa'n't busy And could hear the slightest sound, I would venture from my hiding To the top of North Pole Mound. I was sure He'd never let His Angels come out this-a-way, But would use the wind to carry, Prayers out here, that people pray. So I'd hold my hands, and stopping Gusts that tried to struggle free, Tell them this here simple message They must take to you from me: 'Please, dear God, won't you tell Billy That I'm holding down his claim? He don't come 'cause he's in trouble. Thank you, God. He ain't to blame.'" 16 Long before her honest story Faltered to its hallowed close, Pushing back his untouched supper, Tremblingly her guest arose. Vain for him to curb emotion, Or to stammer out his praise Through a storm of rude devotion, Cast in halting human phrase. Vain for him to frame a message Never meant for words to tell, At the joy of reaching heaven By that trail that led through hell. But his fervent benediction Was a passionate embrace, And the Amen love's own ending, As he kissed her fearless face.