‘Twas little Jennie, and she sat
Upon a heap of hay,
Beneath the shadow of a tree
And read the “Peep of Day.”
The blackbird sang his merry song
Above her curly head,
And hopping boldly at her feet
Was little robin red.
But Jennie did not care to hear
The merry blackbird sing,
Nor watched the robin redbreast smooth
His pretty shiny wing.
For bending o’er her book she read,
Of Jesus in the sky,
And how He left His glory bright,
For sinful man to die.
The aged gardener working near
Would often look that way,
And wondered why Miss Jennie loved
Her reading more than play.
At length he close and closer drew,
And, “Little Miss,” said he
“You have a pretty book; I wish
You’d read a bit to me.”
And little Jennie’s eyes of blue
They sparkled as she said,
“I’ll read about the death of Christ,
And how He left the dead.”
“The death of Christ?” the gardener asked;
“First tell me, who was He?”
Said Jennie, “Don’t you know the Lord,
Who died for you and me?”
“Ah, miss, I never went to school,”
The poor old man replied;
“It seems as if I’d heard His name,
But nothing else beside.”
The tears came into Jennie’s eyes,
And, “O, how sad!” she said;
“What! have you not in all your life
The Holy Bible read?”
“No; I was never taught at all”
The aged gardener sighed;
“A single word I could not speak
When both my parents died.”
“O, dear!” said Jennie; “if you like
I’ll come here every day,
And sit beneath this shady tree
And teach you, if I may.”
“Come, sit beside me on the grass,
And let us now begin
To read about the Lamb of God,
Who took away our sin.”
With many thanks the gardener sat,
The gentle girl beside,
And heard her tell of Jesus’ love,
So boundless, deep and wide.
And when she closed her pretty book
He scarce a word could speak;
His heart was full of thought, and tears
Were on his withered cheek.
And often as he worked next day,
Across the field he’d look
To see if little Jennie kind
Was coming with her book.
She came at last—that happy child—
At summer morning bright,
Plucking the king-cups in her way,
And pink-edged daisies white.
And down again they sat and read;
And all the summer long
He listened to that pleasant voice,
As sweet as wild birds’ song.
And he would talk of God and heaven—
Of Jesus and His love,
And how he learned to know of Christ
Who lives for him above.
ML 09/18/1938