RUFUS PRAYS

IN the darkening church, Where but a few had stayed, At the Litany Desk The idiot knelt and prayed. Rufus, stunted, uncouth. The one son of his mother: “Eh, I’d sooner ’ave Rufie,” She said, “than many another. “’E’s so useful about the ’ouse And so gentle as ’e can be: And ’e gets up early o’ mornin’s To make me a cup o’ tea.” The formal evensong Had passed over his head: He sucked his thumb, and squinted, And dreamed, instead. Now while the organ boomed To few who still were there, At the Litany Desk The idiot made his prayer: “Gawd bless Muther, ’N’ make Rufie a good lad. Take Rufie to Heaven, ’N’ forgive him when he’s bad. “’N’ early mornin’s in Heaven ’E’ll make Muther’s tea, ’N’ a cup for the Lord Jesus ’N’ a cup for Thee.”