THE DEPARTING guests were saying a
sectional good-by. Little Miss Three-Years-Old occupied the
waiting time in running close circles on the grass until she
tumbled in a heap of ecstatic dizziness. Her joy was
unconfined until mother noticed her and said sharply, "Stop
that!" Little Miss obeyed, but the joy drained out of her. I
thought, "Oh, mother, let her rejoice in her youth. She's
doing no harm, exploring her entrancing powers. Don't be
taking the joy out of her life, when her recreations are
innocent, and you don't provide something else."
To the child I said, "Come on! Let's run
in a straight line." Instantly joy returned to her downcast
face. Together we ran to the edge of the yard. Together we
sat down in a sudden plop. Then we looked around for the
next number on the program.
"Oh! Oh!" she shouted. "Little leaves
pwaying!" Yes, a big clump of clover leaves near us were
going to sleep in the on-coming dusk, each one in the
attitude of babyhood at mother's knee in every Christian
home: the two lower leaflets folded together like little
hands at prayer, and the third leaflet bent down like a
reverent head. "Little leaves pwaying!" repeated the baby
softly, looking wonderingly from me to the clover clump.
"Yes, darling," I said, "the little
leaves are praying. They are going to bed. They worked and
played all day. Now they are sleepy. They go to bed early.
They don't fuss, and they never forget to pray."
"Little leaves work like daddy?" she
asked.
"No, honey. Little leaves stay in one
place, where Jesus made them grow. They work by breathing in
fresh air and sunshine. They play by waving back and forth
in the wind. They go to sleep like this. When the sun comes
back in the morning, they will wake up."
Baby looked meditatively at the sleeping
clover leaves. The radiance of a new thought flowed over
her.
"Little leaves pway while they sleep.
Little leaves pway always!"
Later as I bowed beside my bed, I prayed
the baby's "pwayer": "Lord, keep me as faithful as the
clover leaves."
The clovers look at God all day;
Then fold their rounded hands to pray
When evening comes;
And bend their heads
And sleep upon their earthy beds.
So lift I up my heart all day
To Thee, above my toilsome way.
When evening comes,
I gladly bend my weary head
To rest on angel-guarded bed.
