The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1885-04-23
CH1LDHOOD,s PRAYER.
A Literature Which Appeals Strongly te
the Heart.

viz ullutCo 1OaoAhS AoteeA fAoPe'ASN AZ
the little ones, but the literature of their
first loves and friendships and thoughts
and unconventional ways, is voluminous.
Literary men delight to write of their
early years, when the trail of the serpent
had not yet appeared on their hearts.
There is joy in remembering that we
were once pure aud not given to the er.
raticisms, s'the pomps and vanities OF
this wicked world" There is no "crown
of sorrow" in recalling mothers smile,
fathers appreciation, or even the snow.
covered graves in the old homestead
burying ground, where they are sleeping
in hopes of a glorious resurrection. Per-
haps one of the tenderest recollections
| any man can have is that of the evening
prayer at his mothers knee. Unfortu-
nate is that man whose mother did not
teach him at nightfall to say:
Now lay me down to sleep,
1 pray the Lord my soul to keep;
If should die before wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.
Men say that the opening sentence of
the Bible, "In the beginning God created
the heaven and the earth," is sublimer
in its simplicity than all Of Millions rich
poetry of description. Felix Mendels-
sohn was impressed with the passage in
the first Book of Kings, "Behold, the
Lord passed by" and saw in it so much
beauty that he determined to write an
oratorio in which he could set it to mu.
sic. "The Elijah" was the result. The
prayer of childhood, CHOW I lay me
down to Sleep" to me seems grander and
truer in spirit than the elaborate liturgy
of the Anglican establishment, or the
stilted addresses to Deity delivered in
legislative halls and religious assemblies.
It is unaffected helplessness casting it.
self upon power; what is more or less
than this cannot be prayer. I have seen
children in time of dreadful storms,
when dark clouds hung unusually low,
and trees were uprooted and fences blown
down, and we expected the house soon to
yield to the fury of the gale, steal into a
corner and repeat these lines of simple
faith. God knew what they wanted.
What are words?
The literature which has gathered
around this prayer has it's burlesque, as
we'll as its pathos. The following in.
stance has been ascribed to too many
men for US to say positively it was such
one. Two Congressmen (be assured
they were congressman were conversing,
and freak of mind utterly inexplicable
led them to refer to religion. Forthwith
one of them began to eulogize the Lords
prayer as most touching and eloquent in
its diction he concluded by offering to
bet $40 that his brother could not repeat
it. The $40 bill was covered, and the
Congressman began: ''Now l lay me
down to Sleep" and repeated that prayer
to the end. "I am amazed" the other
said "I really didn't think you could
do it, The money is yours" Perhaps
the recurrence of the word Lord is what
led to this ignorance.
A large number of poems have been
written on this prayer-frOm twelve to
twenty lines being taken for each line of
the prayer. The shortest and one OF the
cutest has gone the rounds anonymously.
In the anthology before me no name Is
attached. Here it is.
"Now lay me''-say it, darling;
"Lay me-" lisped the tiny lips
Of my daughter kneeling, bending,
Der her folded finger tips.
"Down to sleep"-"to Sleep" she muir.
INJURED.
And the curly head dropped low;
IT pray the Lord" gently added,
"You can say it all, know"
'Pray the Lord"-the words came family,
Fainter still-"my soul to keep"
Then the tired head fairly nodded,
And the child was fast asleep.
But the dewy eyes half opened
When I clasped her to my breast,
And dear voice softly whispered,
"Mamma, God knows all the rest"
All, Mr.. Preacher, here is a faith that
argues your theology down: "God
knows all the rest" 1t is like the faith
of David when he wrote in the most
plaiutive of psalms: "He knoweth our
frame; He remembereth that ne are
dust"
A mother says she saw her youngest
child die, be shrouded and buried, and
did not shed tear. The evening after
thefuneral she was listening to the prayer
of her now only child, and when the
weak voice piped, eff I should die," she
thought of the one whose spirit the Lord
had taken. The prayer smote her heart
as the rod of Moses smote the rock, and
o food of tears gushed to her relief.
The sketches of the life of the Rev.
Nottrelate that he sank into second child
hood. The last hour of his life was Pc
culiary tender and impressive. He lay
on his bed blind and apparently uncon.
scious. His wife sat by his bedside, and
upon his request, sang the songs OF his
youth. He was hushed to repose by
them, like an infant on its pillow.
! Watts cradle hymn, "Hush, My Dear,
Lie Still and Slumber," seemed especially
soothing. Visions of home foated be-
fore him, and the name of his mother
was often on his lips. "Let US pray" he
said, and all the family and friends pres.
eut knelt. He clasped his hands and
began, "Now / lay ME down to Sleep"
They waited for him to continue. His
wife was first to discover that he had fal.
len "asleep in Jesus"
1t is proposed in this article to do no
more than suggest what others can do
better than the present writer. Let the
literature of this prayer be collected.
Almost every mother can contribute to
it, and he is to be piticd who would find
no pleasure in it. There are common
folks in this world who do not care for
the protoplastic nomads or earth worms,
who cannot appreciate the essays with
! hard names which appear in many Pc
riodicals, but they have smiles and tears
for what is faithful transcript of every
day life. The literature of the heart and
of home is what they love, and, after all,
is the holiest and best.
= Mrs. William Thompson, living
near Johnson's swamp in Williamsburg
County, was seriously and it is feared
fatally burned on Wednesday, April /