The preacher stood at the back of the hall,
Thoughtfully scanning the aisle;
Daily the doors were open wide
For strangers to rest awhile.
A small boy entered and reverently walked
Right up to the front of the hall,
Carrying papers, too heavy a load
For a body so small and frail.
He stayed but a moment on bended knee,
Then out on the busy street,
He sold his papers with a winning smile
To all whom he chanced to meet.
The preacher watched from day to day,
He longed with the child to speak;
But had only a glimpse of a fleeting form
As it vanished on nimble feet.
He met him one morning face to face,
And asked with a kindly smile,
“What prayer can you offer, my little lad,
While you tarry so short a while?”
“I know no prayer,” he shyly said,
“I don’t know how to pray;
But ‘Jesus—this is Jimmy,’
Is all I ever say.”
How sweet is this, the faith of a child,
That came to Jesus in need
And you, dear reader, may come today,
And from sin and guilt be freed.
He shed His blood that you might be
His very own today.
O trust His love, believe His Word,
He’ll be with you, alway.
A few days later the preacher was called,
And he saw little Jimmy again,
Felled by a truck on the busy road,
He lay on a bed of pain.
The preacher stood by the dying boy,
Listening to catch a word—
Not Jimmy’s—another Voice he heard,
“It is I, be not afraid.”
ML 12/19/1954