Ike Waltons Prayer

I crave, dear Lord,     No boundless hoard     Of gold and gear,          Nor jewels fine,          Nor lands, nor kine,

Nor treasure-heaps of anything.-          Let but a little hut be mine     Where at the hearthstore I may hear               The cricket sing,          And have the shine     Of one glad woman's eyes to make,     For my poor sake,          Our simple home a place divine;- Just the wee cot-the cricket's chirr- Love, and the smiling face of her.

I pray not for Great riches, nor     For vast estates, and castle-halls,-     Give me to hear the bare footfalls          Of children o’er          An oaken floor,     New-risen with sunshine, or bespread     With but the tiny coverlet     And pillow for the baby’s head;

And pray Thou, may The door stand open and the day     Send ever in a gentle breeze,     With fragrance from the locust-trees,          And drowsy moan of doves, and blur     Of robin-chirps, and drove of bees,          With afterhushes of the stir     Of intermingling sounds, and then          The good-wife and the smile of her     Filling the silences again-               The cricket’s call,                    And the wee cot,               Dear Lord of all,                    Deny me not!     I pray not that     Men tremble at          My power of place               And lordly sway, -     I only pray for simple grace     To look my neighbor in the face          Full honestly from day to day-     Yield me this horny palm to hold,               And I’ll not pray                    For gold;- The tanned face, garlanded with mirth,

It hath the kingliest smile on earth- The swart brow, diamonded with sweat,

Hath never need of coronet.                    And so I reach,                         Dear Lord, to Thee,                    And do beseech                         Thou givest me The wee cot, and the cricket’s chirr,

Love, and the glad sweet face of her.