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THE ANSWERED PRAYER

In fair Brittany we wandered,
 Loitering on our pleasant way,—
Adding to the cherished pictures
 That kind Memory holds to-day:
And among the very fairest,
 With its setting quaint and old,
Deem I this, whose touching pathos,
 Has a charm the heart to hold.

A wan, crippled little maiden,
 With a sweet and patient face,
And a voice whose mournful cadence
 Gave her words a touching grace.—
Oft we saw her in our rambles,
 Sitting by the flower-edged way,
And we marked the tender kindness,
 Of her little mates at play.

Thus one morn we saw her sitting,
 And her smile such radiance shed,
That she seemed a saintly maiden,
 With a halo o'er her head.
And we questioned, "Was she better?"
 While she softly answered "Nay,
But I shall be soon, for surely
 Christ will hear my mother pray."

Days sped on, another morning
 And a bier strewn sweet with flowers,
Told us she indeed was better
 In a fairer world than ours.
So unto the mother's praying
 The dear Lord had answered best,
And instead of earthly comfort,
 He had given Heavenly rest.

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