Ike Walton's Prayer

I crave, dear Lord,No boundless hoardOf gold and gear,Nor jewels fine,Nor lands, nor kine,5Nor treasure-heaps of anything.-Let but a little hut be mineWhere at the hearthstore I may hearThe cricket sing,And have the shine10Of 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.15

I pray not forGreat riches, norFor vast estates, and castle-halls,-Give me to hear the bare footfallsOf children o’er20An oaken floor,New-risen with sunshine, or bespreadWith but the tiny coverletAnd pillow for the baby’s head;And pray Thou, may25The door stand open and the daySend ever in a gentle breeze,With fragrance from the locust-trees,And drowsy moan of doves, and blurOf robin-chirps, and drove of bees,30With afterhushes of the stirOf intermingling sounds, and thenThe good-wife and the smile of herFilling the silences again-The cricket’s call,35And the wee cot,Dear Lord of all,Deny me not!

I pray not thatMen tremble at40My power of placeAnd lordly sway, -I only pray for simple graceTo look my neighbor in the faceFull honestly from day to day-45Yield me this horny palm to hold,And I’ll not prayFor gold;-The tanned face, garlanded with mirth,It hath the kingliest smile on earth-50The swart brow, diamonded with sweat,Hath never need of coronet.And so I reach,Dear Lord, to Thee,And do beseech55Thou givest meThe wee cot, and the cricket’s chirr,Love, and the glad sweet face of her.