The Republican journal., 1910-11-17
PRAYER AND POTATOES.

The following poem, which is several
years old. il q Classic Of its kind. In it's
own homely, simple way it breaches
very powerful sermon. John q. Whit
tier wrote of it: 'It is more valuable
than some epics. am not sure but 1t Is
more to the Makers purpose than any
learned theological tome published since
1t was written" The poem was written
by the Rev. J, T. Pettee of Meriden,
Conn.
PRAYER AND POTATOES.
An old lady sat in her old armchair.
With wrinkled visape and dishevelled hair,
AND hunger-worn features;
For days and for weeks her only fare,
As she sat there in her old armchair,
had been potatoes.
But now they were gone; Of bad or good
Not one was left for the old lady's food
VI these potatoes;
And she sighed and said: What shall do?
where shall send and to whom snail go
For more potatoes?
And she thought of the deacon over the way,
The deacon so ready to worship and pray,
whose cellar was full OF potatoes:
And she said: "a will send for the deacon to
come
He'll not mind much to give me some
vi such store of potatoes
And the deacon came over as fast as he could,
Thinking to do the old lady some good.
But never for once, of potatoes;
He asked her at once what was her chief want,
And she, simple soul, expecting grant,
Immediately answered.: - otatoes.
But the deacon's religion didn't lie that way;
He was more accustomed to preach and to
pray
Than to give of his boarded potatoes;
Sn Moth hot fhn n1I loIy
said,
He rose to pray with uncovered head,
But she only thought of potatoes.
But when he prayed: Lord, give her peace"
She audbly sighed Give potatoes"
And at the end of each prayer which he said,
He heard, or thought that he heard in it's stead,
That same request for potatoes.
The deacon was troubled; knew not what to do;
Twas very embarrassing to have to act so
About those carna potatoes"
So, ending his prayer, he started for home;
But, as the door closed behind him, he heard
deep groan:
30, give to the hungry potatoes!''
And that groan followed him all the way home;
In the midst of the night it haunted his room
20, give to the hungry potatoes!'
He could bear it no longer; arose and dressed.
From his well-illed cellar taking in haste
bag of his best potatoes.
Again he went to the widows lone hut;
Her sleepless eyes she had not shut;
But there she sat in the old armchair,
With the same wan features, the same sad air,
And, entering in, he poured on the floor
A bushel or more from his goodly store
Of choicest potatoes.
The widows heart leaped up for joy,
Her face was haggard and wan no more.
"Now." said the deacon, "shall we pray?"
EYES," said the widow, ''now you may"
And he keeeled him down on the sanded floor,
Where he had poured his goodly store,
And such prayer the deacon prayed,
AS never before his lips essayed;
No longer embarrassed, but free and full,
He poured out the voice of liberal SOUL
And the widow responded aloud: "Amen!'
But said no more of potatoes.
And would you, who hear this simple tale,
Pray for the poor. and praying, "prevail?"
Then preface your prayer with aims and good
deeds;
Search out the poor, their wants and their
needs;
Pray for peace and grace, and spiritual food,
For wisdom and guidance, for all these are
good
But don't forget the potatoes.