One dark, stormy night mother woke up. Hark! who is talking? The wind is blowing. It is not that. Who is talking? Why, it is Alice in her crib. Mother did not speak; she kept still to hear what her little girl said. Alice was not fretting; she was not worrying. She was not afraid of the dark or the wind. How do you know? I will tell you what she was saying—saying all to herself in her snug little bed by mother’s bed. “God, take care papa, mamma, I. God, take care papa, mamma, I. God, take care papa, mamma, I. God, take care birdies. Dear God up in the sky, I love you, I do, I do;” and with that her little voice died away, and she fell asleep again.
Were they not sweet thoughts for a little child in the dark night? God loves to be in the thoughts of a little child.
ML 01/16/1938