Away in a country lone churchyard
The grave of dear Minnie is seen,
The daisies are blooming around it,
Bedecking the verdure, so green.
No headstone is placed there to mark it,
No roses bloom fragrant and fair,
No sweet scented jasmine or violet,
Sheds perfume abroad in the air.
But sacred that grave is and holy,
The angels that pass in their flight
Know well, that what sleeps there in darkness
Will waken again in God’s Light.
For there lies a lamb of Christ Jesus
Who was only just ten years old,
When the Good Shepherd came on her birthday
And carried her home to His fold.
Her father, he wrought as a navvy,
Had always been careless and wild.
Yet despite a life that was evil
The man had a love for his child.
Each day at the hour of the noontide
His dinner the little maid brought,
Far off from their home on the moorland,
To the place on the line where he wrought.
One midsummer morn she hastened,
Ten years was she on that day;
And deep in the heart was there something,
She longed to her father to say.
She spoke of his work nearly ended,
And he would go seeking for more.
She spoke of the time that was passing,
And he would be summoned away.
But she scarcely knew how to begin it
And so she just said it out plain,
“Father, may I speak to you about Jesus,
The Lamb, who for sinners was slain?”
His brow on a sudden, flushed scarlet
As maddened with anger, cried he,
“Never dare again will you to utter
One word about Jesus to me.”
Thereat the young brow grew o’er clouded,
The wistful eye, tearful and dim;
She turned away homeward proceeding,
And not a word more said to him.
The rage of the man had been sudden,
Soon past was its hurricane wild,
“I’ve vexed the poor lassie,” he murmured,
And rose up to follow his child.
But crossing the railroad he stumbled,
And falling there close by the rail,
He lay there, while on like a whirlwind.
There came the swift rush of the mail.
Poor Minnie had noticed her father
Fall down in the path of the train,
And fleet as a hind, she rushed forward
To help him his feet to regain.
But vain was her efforts to raise him,
She ran into danger instead;
The train left her father sore wounded,
But crushed by its wheels, she lay dead.
Men carried him home all unconscious,
Unconscious a long time he lay;
Then slowly his eyelids he opened
Once more to the light of the day.
O, Minnie, my Minnie forgive me,
I’m sorry for speaking so wild;
Forgive me, and tell me of Jesus,
And if He will save me, my child.”
But her lips cold in death never answered,
Another drew near him instead
To tell him of what had befallen,
Then he knew that his Minnie was dead.
He begged them to bring him her Bible,
He begged them to read him some word,
That would tell of the way of salvation,
And how to draw near to the Lord.
They read him the prodigal’s story,
They turned to the Publican’s prayer,
When a paper dropped out of the Bible,
Which the hand of his child placed there.
What is it? Some writing of Minnie’s
They lifted the paper and read,
A Prayer
Traced there by the hand of the dead,
On this my tenth birthday, Lord Jesus,
As a birthday present give me,
That my father may have salvation,
And pardon and mercy from Thee.”
“Thy prayer is answered, my darling,”
He exclaimed with a strange glad cry,
“Late come, but the blessing has found me,
She’ll know it above in the sky.
“The Angels will carry the tidings,
Will tell the glad news in heaven,
A sinner has found his Saviour,—
Your father is washed and forgiven.”
ML 12/24/1939