22 OCTOBER 1892, Page 17

POETRY.

PRAYER.

I PRAY so ill I am ashamed to pray ;

And marvel oft can He who reigns on high Give heed to my poor inarticulate cry, Who, stammering, would my childish wants convey„ Yet know not what to wish, nor how to say ; They seem such little selfish things that I Most care to ask of God's great Majesty :- And, sighing thus, I went upon my way.

Then, in a friend's house, came his little boy And prattled to me, full of eager Joy: But I, to construe baby-tongue unskill'd, The father's face with questioning glances seann'd; Then, smiling on his child with eyes love-fill'd,

The father said, "But I can understand."

W. WALSHAM WAKEFIELD.