Most every day a little boy
Comes driving past our house,
With the nicest little pony---
Just the color of a mouse—
And a groom rides close behind him
So he won’t get hurt, you see,
And I used to wish the pony
And the cart belonged to me.
I used to watch him from our porch,
And wish that I could own
His pony and his little cart,
And ride out all alone.
And once when I knelt down at night,
I prayed the Lord that He
Would fix it so the pony
And the cart belonged to me.
But yesterday I saw him
Where he lives, and now I know
Why he never goes out walkin’
‘Cause his legs are withered so!
And last night when I was kneelin’
With my head on mother’s knee,
I was glad he had the pony
And the cart, instead of me.
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