Some one told me, I remember,
Long ago when I was small,
God made every star up yonder,
Everything--the world and all.
Then I thought that in His workshop,
Up there in the heavens above,
He had made that curious hunger
Of the heart that we call love.
P'r'aps my troubles and the waiting
Stirred me to this queer-like whim;
But I couldn't help it, Billy,
I just had to talk to Him.


15

"In the night, when God wa'n't busy
And could hear the slightest sound,
I would venture from my hiding
To the top of North Pole Mound.
I was sure He'd never let His
Angels come out this-a-way,
But would use the wind to carry,
Prayers out here, that people pray.
So I'd hold my hands, and stopping
Gusts that tried to struggle free,
Tell them this here simple message
They must take to you from me:
'Please, dear God, won't you tell Billy
That I'm holding down his claim?