I never thought that Bill could say
 A proper prayer;
'Twas more in his hard-bitten way
 To cuss and swear;
Yet came the night when Baby Ted
 Was bitter ill,
I tip-toed to his tiny bed,
 And there was Bill.
 
Aye, down upon his bended knees
 I heard him cry:
"O God, don't take my kiddy, please!
 Don't let him die!"
Then softly so he would not see,
 I shrank away:
He would have been so shamed for me
 To see him pray.

Men-folk are queer: Bill acts up tough,
 Yet how it's odd,
When things are looking downright rough
 He tunes to God.
"The Parson and the Priest be darned!"
 I've heard him say:
Yet when his baby is concerned
 He's quick to pray.

Maybe it's gentle parent-hood
 That gives us grace,
And in its sacrificial mood
 Uplifts the race.
Of sentiment, all self above,
 That goodness sums
I think the saving best is Love
 For little ones.