I wonder if Christ had a little brown dog,
One he felt was a pal , just like mine,
With long silky ears, a nose soft and wet
And eyes kind and tender that shine.
I don't think he did, you see, as I read
That "alone" in the garden he prayed
When disciples and friends had left him and fled.
I feel sure his dog would have stayed.
And also I think that this little pal,
Though his heart was a-tremble with fear,
Would never have left him to suffer alone,
He'd have snuggled up, just to be near.
He'd have licked those dear fingers in agony clasped,
He'd have pushed his wet nose to his palm,
He'd have given assurance and said in his way,
"All right master, I,ll keep you from harm."
Peter and John would have seen him too
As he searched round the fire in the court.
He'd have shared all the cuffs, the curses and kicks
As he whined for the master he sought.
How he'd have barked and struggled and snarled
When men laughed at that thorn crowned head.
Dumbly he'd stand as the cruel scourges fell.
He'd be there when the blood dropped red.
No, I don't think our Christ had a little brown dog,
He'd have stayed ever close to his friend.
When he carried his cross he'd have trotted behind
And followed him right to the end.
