DAY after day had the sun shone out 

  Till the earth was choking with dust and drought,

And millions of blossoms on hill and plain 

Were almost dead for the want of rain.

All through the meadows the heads of wheat 

Bent low with the long-continued heat, 

And the farmer murmured, "No crop of grain 

Shall I harvest this year if it doesn't rain!"

The clouds hung heavy in hearts that knew 

How much depended on rain and dew. 

And tears were plenty as days went by; 

But clouds and tears were not in the sky.

Our Willie noticed the frown that lay 

On his father's forehead from day to day, 

And longed to banish with loving art 

The fears that troubled the farmer's heart.

"Mamma, do you think that God would hear 

If I prayed for rain?" "Why, of course, my dear,"

Was the mother's earnest and prompt reply. 

"Well, then," said Willie, "I mean to try."

At bedtime, Willie, o'ercome with play, 

Forgot the prayer that he meant to say; 

But the angels, watching his slumbers, guessed 

The thought that quivered within his breast.

Next morn all over the thirsty plain 

Was heard the steady drip of rain, 

And Willie, o'erjoyed at the welcome eight, 

Exclaimed, " Why, mamma, who prayed last night?"