BOBBY'S QUESTIONS.
Dear Lord, I know you're very great,
And I am little, only eight,
But there are things I'd like to say,
To ask you. Lord, before I pray.
For it's no use to ask mamma,
I've questioned her and my papa,
But neither one the answer knew;
So I resolved to come to You.
I want to know the reason why
So many children have to die?
And why, with so much bread and meat,
Some folks have not enough to eat?
And why some lucky little boys
Have all the fun, and all the toys,
While others have to work all day,
And have no time to romp and play?
And, please, I'd like you to explain
Why people have to suffer pain?
For pain don't make us good, you see,
It makes a naughty boy of me;
For when I have a real bad ache,
You know what noise and fuss I make.
And I am little, only eight,
But there are things I'd like to say,
To ask you. Lord, before I pray.
For it's no use to ask mamma,
I've questioned her and my papa,
But neither one the answer knew;
So I resolved to come to You.
I want to know the reason why
So many children have to die?
And why, with so much bread and meat,
Some folks have not enough to eat?
And why some lucky little boys
Have all the fun, and all the toys,
While others have to work all day,
And have no time to romp and play?
And, please, I'd like you to explain
Why people have to suffer pain?
For pain don't make us good, you see,
It makes a naughty boy of me;
For when I have a real bad ache,
You know what noise and fuss I make.
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