Then in the lad, whose noble brow Thy presence might suggest; With closer view we must allow By thee he is not blest. E'en when we look within the child And laud his graces sweet, We find his mind so soon defiled For thee 'tis no retreat. "And why?" we ask, "oh! why is this? Such need and dearth abound. Oh! why in homes of promised bliss May not this gem be found?" The mystery, so deep, so great, Is simply lack of prayer; Is bidding timely warning wait For daily toil and care. Allowing things that crumble, waste, Our whole attention claim, We cause sweet Innocence in haste To leave our homes to shame. But thee, sweet grace, we find in some-- Thank God thou art not lost!-- We see thee in the Christian home As royal guest and host. We note the mother as she pleads For counsel from God's throne, Then goes with wisdom that she needs And strength to make it known. We watch the child in this true home, And in its face so fair We recognise what doth become A faithful mother's prayer. Sweet Innocence! may we extol, Within the home, thy art; Thy power to beautify the soul, To teach the pure in heart. Thou gift divine! thou fairest gem! Thy presence may we crave, That thou mayst grace our diadem In life beyond the grave. Reveal, O grace, unto the world Thy beauties rich and rare, That all may understand and know What mothers find in prayer_. End of Project Gutenberg's The value of a praying mother, by Isabel C. Byrum