Poem of Hattie May Wiatt

Hattie May Wiatt went to church
But found no room though she did search
The chapel was small
And filled wall to wall
No place to sit down, not a perch

A very large congregation
Finding seats a complication
She just wanted in
But how could she win
A Sunday School education

Books in hand and an offering
She waited almost wavering
But who could foretell
That Pastor Conwell
Would pity a child’s suffering

Like a rock, a giant boulder
Like a brave heroic soldier
So fearless and true
He took her right through
Carried Hattie on his shoulder

Sunday School, at last she was there
In a corner she found a chair
The very next day
They met by the way
The pastor had a dream to share

To build a large Sunday School room
He hoped to build it very soon
It would be awesome
Just one big problem
No money! How inopportune!

Then Hattie got sick by and by
Everyone prayed but she did die
God’s precious small girl
Had said her farewell
In God’s shining world she’s alive

Before God took her Hattie saved
For the Sunday School that she craved
Fifty seven cents
Her mother presents
A child’s gift from beyond the grave

The pastor told all the willing
The first amount for the building
From a little girl
Let’s give it a whirl
And bring her dream to fulfilling

This set in motion great events
But I won’t keep you in suspense
A house was acquired
The money inspired
By Hattie’s fifty seven cents

In those days church was in demand
And that church started to expand
Philadelphia
in Pennsylvania
A small child’s faith—God’s mighty hand

That’s not the end as you will see
That school grew quite remarkably
And now it has grown
And is quite well known
The Temple University

The Samaritan hospital
and the Garretson Hospital
Fifty seven cents
An impact immense
Hattie’s gift is responsible

Christmas reminds us all to share
A little child or millionaire
Giving to the least
We give it to Christ
For Jesus teaches us to care