CONFESSIONAL

    I do not kneel at night, to say a prayer;
    I think of spiders and I do not dare!

    My knees are thin, and easily they could
    Gather a splinter, roughened from the wood.

    I'm cold, and bed is warm; I'm better there,
    Than in the outer darkness of a prayer!

    But when the morning wakes up, pink and cool,
    And sunrise makes our peach-blooms glory-full;

    And God comes smiling down the garden-walk,
    I run and slip my hand in His, and talk!

    I tell Him that I am a naughty lamb;
    He laughs and says He made me as I am!