A boy about eleven,
Residing in a court,
Had learned the way to heaven,
As in the Bible taught,
That by the blood of Jesus
Our sins are washed away;
And found, too, that He sees us,
And guards us night and day.
His father, fond of pleasure,
And fond of drinking, too,
Cared nothing for the treasure
Which little Robert knew.
When he had done his labors,
Cared not for homelike joys,
But oft disturbed his neighbors
By midnight cries and noise.
One night, when sleepless lying,
When all was calm and still,
I heard young Robert crying,
“O help! my father’s ill.”
And sorrowful and weeping,
There stood the loving wife,
To see her husband reaping
The fruits of reckless life.
And Robert, very fearful,
His father’s danger felt,
And sorrowful and tearful,
He in the passage knelt;
And so continued crying,
In agony and pain,
“ Jesus, father’s dying,
But raise him up again.
“Forgive his bad behavior,
O please to let him live,
Do hear me, gracious Saviour,
And health my father give;
My naughty father’s dying,
O raise him up once more,”
Poor Robert still kept crying,
While kneeling on the floor.
And God, who lives in glory,
And loves to give relief,
Had heard the simple story
Of little Robert’s grief;
God saw his tears of sorrow,
And understood his pain,
And so, upon the morrow,
His father raised again.
For though so high and holy,
And dwelling in the light,
Yet with the poor and lowly
God findeth His delight.
And whilst the earth He’s filling,
With life, and light, and joy,
Yet Robert found Him willing
To help a little boy!
ML 08/22/1918