With mother here and father there The baby knelt to say her pray'r, The little pray'r we all have learned, And some forgotten, some have spurned: "Our Father," in the usual way, "Thy kingdom come," we heard her say, "Thy will be done" -- each mortal knows The holy pray'r, and how it goes. "Give us this day our daily bread," And then she lifted up her head, "But put some butter on," she said. "No, no!" we cried, and then we smiled, And then we knew again a child Had spoken truth; we smiled, and then Out of the mouths of babes again We knew had come a living truth, The sweet philosophy of youth. Father, we want to do Thy will, And do our work -- but long the hill, The hill of life that lifts ahead; Oh, Father, as the babe has said, Give us some butter on our bread. The dignity of labor, yes, We know all that; but duties press Upon the heart: the daily round, Accustomed scene, accustomed sound. Though noble tasks our hours employ, Father, we want a little joy; Yes, there is something more to give: To live mankind must more than live. A roof, a fire, a meal, a bed, Are not enough. As baby said, Give us some butter on our bread. |