Devotional Poetry for the Children

Devotional Poetry for the Children / Second Part

“Make us beautiful within,By Thy Spirit’s holy light;Guard us when our faith burns dim,Father of all love and might.”

THE LIFE-CLOCK

There is a little mystic clock,No human eye hath seen,That beateth on, – and beateth on, —From morning until e’en.And when the soul is wrapped in sleep,All silent and alone,It ticks and ticks the livelong night,And never runneth down.Oh! wondrous is that work of art,Which knells the passing hour;But art ne’er formed, nor mind conceived,The life-clock’s magic power.Not set in gold, nor decked with gems,By wealth and pride possessed;But rich or poor, or high or low,Each bears it in his breast.Such is the clock that measures life, —Of flesh and spirit blended, —And thus ’t will run within the breast,Till that strange life is ended.

GOD IS LOVE

Lo! the heavens are breaking,Pure and bright above;Light and life awaking,Murmur, “God is love.”Music now is ringing,Through the leafy grove,Feathered songsters, singing,Warble, “God is love.”Wake, my heart, and springing,Spread thy wings above;Soaring still, and singing, —Singing, “God is love.”

TIME

A minute, – how soon it is flown!And yet, how important it is!God calls every moment His own, —For all our existence is His:And tho’ we may waste many moments each day,He notices each that we squander away.We should not a minute despise,Although it so quickly is o’er;We know that it rapidly flies,And therefore should prize it the more.Another, indeed, may appear in its stead;But that precious minute, for ever, is fled.’Tis easy to squander our yearsIn idleness, folly, and strife;But, oh! no repentance nor tearsCan bring back one moment of life.Then wisely improve all the time as it goes,And life will be happy, and peaceful the close.

THANKSGIVING

There’s not a leaf within the bower, —There’s not a bird upon the tree, —There’s not a dewdrop on the flower, —But bears the impress, Lord, of Thee.Thy power the varied leaf designed,And gave the bird its thrilling tone;Thy hand the dewdrops’ tints combined,Till like a diamond’s blaze they shone.Yes, dewdrops, leaves and buds, and all, —The smallest, like the greatest things, —The sea’s vast space, the earth’s wide ball,Alike proclaim Thee, King of kings!But man alone, to bounteous Heaven,Thanksgiving’s conscious strains can raise:To favored man, alone, ’tis given,To join the angelic choir in praise.

“THOU, GOD, SEEST ME.”

Thine eye is on me always,Thou knowest the way I take;Thou seest me when I’m sleeping,Thou seest me when I wake.Thine arm is round about me,Thy hand is underneath;Thy love will still preserve me,If I Thy laws do keep.Thou art my present helper, —Be Thou my daily guide;Then I’ll be safe for ever,Whatever may betide.Oh! help me, dearest Father,To walk in wisdom’s way,That I, Thy loving child, may beThrough every future day,And, by my loving actions, proveThat He who guardeth me is Love.

THE BEAUTIFUL WORKS OF GOD

All things bright and beautiful,All creatures great and small,All things wise and wonderful, —The Lord God made them all.Each little flower that opens,Each little bird that sings,He made their glowing colors,He made their shining wings.The tall trees in the green wood,The meadows where we play,The rushes, by the water,We gather every day, —He gave us eyes to see them,And lips, that we may tellHow great is God Almighty,Who doeth all things well.

SPIRITUAL BLESSINGS

Almighty Father! Thou hast many blessingsIn store for every loving child of Thine;For this I pray, – Let me, Thy grace possessing,Seek to be guided by Thy will divine.Not for earth’s treasures, – for her joys the dearest, —Would I my supplications raise to Thee;Not for the hopes that to my heart are nearest,But only that I give that heart to Thee.I pray that Thou wouldst guide and guard me ever;Cleanse, by Thy power, from every stain of sin;I will Thy blessing ask on each endeavor,And thus Thy promised peace my soul shall win.

THE DOVE’S VISIT

I knew a little, sickly child,The long, long summer’s day,When all the world was green and bright,Alone in bed to lay;There used to come a little doveBefore his window small,And sing to him with her sweet voice,Out of the fir-tree tall.And when the sick child better grew,And he could creep along,Close to that window he would come,And listen to her song.He was so gentle in his speech,And quiet at his play,He would not, for the world, have made,That sweet bird fly away.There is a Holy Dove that singsTo every listening child, —That whispers to his little heartA song more sweet and mild.It is the Spirit of our GodThat speaks to him within;That leads him on to all things good,And holds him back from sin.And he must hear that “still, small voice,”Nor tempt it to depart, —The Spirit, great and wonderful,That whispers in his heart.He must be pure, and good, and true;Must strive, and watch, and pray;For unresisted sin, at last,May drive that Dove away.

TEACH US TO PRAY

Teach us to prayOh, Father! we look up to Thee,And this our one request shall be,Teach us to pray.Teach us to pray.A form of words will not suffice, —The heart must bring its sacrifice:Teach us to pray.Teach us to pray.To whom shall we, Thy children, turn?Teach Thou the lesson we would learn:Teach us to pray.Teach us to pray.To Thee, alone, our hearts look up:Prayer is our only door of hope;Teach us to pray.

DEEDS OF KINDNESS

Suppose the little cowslipShould hang its tiny cup,And say, “I’m such a little flower,I’d better not grow up.”How many a weary travelerWould miss the fragrant smell?How many a little child would grieveTo miss it from the dell!Suppose the glistening dew-drop,Upon the grass, should say,“What can a little dew-drop do?I’d better roll away.”The blade on which it rested,Before the day was done,Without a drop to moisten it,Would wither in the sun.Suppose the little breezesUpon a summer’s day,Should think themselves too small to coolThe traveler on his way:Who would not miss the smallestAnd softest ones that blow,And think they made a great mistakeIf they were talking so?How many deeds of kindnessA little child may do,Although it has so little strength,And little wisdom, too.It wants a loving spirit,Much more than strength, to prove,How many things a child may doFor others by his love.

AN EVENING SONG

How radiant the evening skies!Broad wing of blue in heaven unfurled,God watching with unwearied eyesThe welfare of a sleeping world.He rolls the sun to its decline,And speeds it on to realms afar,To let the modest glowworm shine,And men behold the evening star.He lights the wild flower in the wood,He rocks the sparrow in her nest,He guides the angels on their road,That come to guard us while we restWhen blows the bee his tiny horn,To wake the sisterhood of flowers,He kindles with His smile the morn,To bless with light the winged hours.O God! look down with loving eyesUpon Thy children slumbering here,Beneath this tent of starry skies,For heaven is nigh, and Thou art near.

BE KIND TO THE POOR

Turn not from him, who asks of theeA portion of thy store;Poor though in earthly goods thou be,Thou yet canst give, – what’s more,The balm of comfort thou canst pourInto his grieving mind,Who oft is turned from wealth’s proud door,With many a word unkind.Does any from the false world findNaught but reproach and scorn?Does any, stung by words unkind,Wish that he ne’er was born?Do thou raise up his drooping heart,Restore his wounded mind;Though naught of wealth thou canst impart,Yet still thou mayest be kind.And oft again thy words shall wingBackward their course to thee,And in thy breast will prove a springOf pure felicity.

THE LESSON OF THE LEAVES

How do the leaves grow,In spring, upon their stems?Oh! the sap swells up with a drop for all,And that is life to them.What do the leaves doThrough the long summer hours,They make a home for the wandering birds,And shelter the wild flowers.How do the leaves fadeBeneath the autumn blast?Oh! they fairer grow before they die,Their brightest is their last.We, too, are like leaves,O children! weak and small;God knows each leaf of the forest shade:He knows us, each and all.Never a leaf fallsUntil its part is done;God gives us grace, like sap, and thenSome work to every one.We, too, must grow old,Beneath the autumn sky;But lovelier and brighter our lives may grow,Like leaves before they die.Brighter with kind deeds,With love to others given;Till the leaf falls off from the autumn tree,And the spirit is in heaven.

THE SPRING BIRD’S LESSON

Thou’rt up betimes, my little bird,And out this morning early,For still the tender bud is closed,And still the grass is pearly.Why rise so soon, thou little bird,Thy soft, warm nest forsaking?To brave the dull, cold morning sky,While day is scarcely breaking?Ah! thou art wise, thou little bird,For fast the hours are flying;And this young day, but dawning now,Will soon, alas! be dying.I’ll learn of thee, thou little bird,And slothful habits scorning,No longer sleep youth’s dawn away,Nor waste life’s precious morning.

THE ORPHAN’S HYMN

Father, – an orphan’s prayer receive,And listen to my plaintive cry:Thou only canst my wants relieve,Who art my Father in the sky.I have no father here below,No mother kind to wipe my tears, —These tender names I never know,To soothe my grief and quell my fears.But Thou wilt be my parent, – nighIn every hour of deep distress,And listen to an orphan’s sigh,And soothe the anguish of my breast.For Thou hast promised all I need,More than a father’s, mother’s care:Thou wilt the hungry orphan feed,And always listen to my prayer.

MORNING

Dear Lord, another day has come,And through the hours of night,In a good bed and quiet homeI’ve slept till morning light.Then let me give Thee thanks and praise,For Thou art very good;Oh, teach my little heart to raiseThe prayer that children should.Keep me this day from faults and sin,And make me good and mild;Thy Holy Spirit place within,Grant grace unto a child.Help me obey my parents dear,For they are very kind;And when the hour of rest draws near,Another prayer I’ll find.

EVENING

The day is gone, – the silent nightInvites me to my peaceful bed;But, Lord, I know that it is rightTo thank Thee, ere I rest my head.For my good meals and pleasant hours,That I have had this present day,Let me exert my infant powersTo praise Thee, nor forget to pray.Thou art most good. I can’t tell allThat Thou hast ever done for me;My Shepherd, now on Thee I call,From dangers still preserve me free.If I’ve been naughty on this day,Oh! make me sorry for my fault;Do Thou forgive, and teach the wayTo follow Jesus as I ought.And now I’ll lay me down to rest,Myself, – my friends, – all safely keep;May Thy great name be ever blest,Both when we wake, and when we sleep.

A MOMENT TOO LATE!

A moment too late, my beautiful bird, —A moment too late are you now,The wind has your soft, downy nest disturbed, —The nest that you hung on the bough.A moment too late, – that string in your billWould have fastened it firmly and strong;But see, there it goes rolling over the hill!Oh! you tarried a moment too long.A moment too late, – too late, busy bee,The honey has dropped from the flower;No use to creep under the petals to see, —It stood ready to drop for an hour.A moment too late, – had you sped on your wing,The honey would not have been gone;But see what a very, – a very sad thing,’Tis to tarry a moment too long.

A LITTLE SONNET ABOUT LITTLE THINGS

The little, smoky vaporsProduce the drops of rain;These little drops commingle,And form the boundless main.Then, drops compose the fountains;And little grains of sandCompose the mighty mountains,That high above us stand.The little atoms, it is said,Compose the solid earth;Such truths will show, if rightly read,What little things are worth.For, as the sea of drops is made,So it is Heaven’s plan,That atoms should compose the globe,And actions mark the man.The little seconds soon pass by,And leave our time the less;And on these moments, as they fly,Hang woe or happiness.For, as the present hour is spent,So must the future be;Each action lives, in its effect,Through all eternity.The little sins and follies,That lead the soul astray,Leave stains, that tears of penitence,May never wash away.And little acts of charity,And little deeds of love,May make this world a paradise,Like to that world above.

EXAMINATION

Before we close our eyes to-night,Oh, let us each these questions ask!Have we endeavored to do right,Nor thought our duty a hard task?Have we been gentle, lowly, meek,And the small voice of conscience heard?When passion tempted us to speak,Have we repressed the angry word?Have we with cheerful zeal obeyedWhat our kind parents bade us do?And not by word or action saidThe thing that was not strictly true?In hard temptation’s troubled hour,Oh! have we stopped to think and pray,That God would please to give us powerTo chase the naughty thought away?Oh, Thou! who seest all my heart,Do Thou forgive and love me stillAnd unto me new strength impart,And make me love and do Thy will.

GOD IS IN HIS HOLY TEMPLE

God is in His holy temple;Thoughts of earth be silent now,While with reverence we assemble,And before His presence bow.He is with us, now and ever,While we call upon His name,Aiding every good endeavor,Guiding every upward aim.God is in His holy temple, —In the pure and humble mind;In the reverent heart and simple;In the soul from sense refined.Then let every low emotionBanished far and silent be;And our hearts in pure devotion,Lord, be temples worthy Thee.

MORNING GLORIES

They said, “don’t plant them,” mother; “they’re so common and so poor;”But of seeds I had no other, so I dropped them by the door;And they soon were brightly growing, in the rich and teeming soil,Stretching upward, upward, upward, to reward me for my toil.They grew all o’er the casement, and they wreathed around the door,All about the chamber windows, upward, – upward, ever more;And each dawn, in glowing beauty, glistening with early dew,Is the house all wreathed with splendor, every morning bright and new.What, if they close at mid-day? ’tis because their work is done,And they shut their crimson petals from the kisses of the sun;Teaching every day their lesson to my weary, panting soul,To be faithful in well doing, stretching upward for the goal,Sending out the climbing tendrils, trusting God for strength and power,To support, and aid, and comfort, in the trying day and hour.Ne’er spurn the thing that’s common, nor call homely flowers poor,Each hath a holy mission, like my Glory o’er the door.

HOW BEAUTIFUL THE SETTING SUN

How beautiful the setting sun!The clouds, how bright and gay!The stars, appearing one by one,How beautiful are they!And when the moon climbs up the sky,And sheds her gentle light,And hangs her crystal lamp on high,How beautiful is night!And can it be, that I’m possessedOf something brighter far?Glows there a light within this breast,Out-shining every star?Yes, should the sun and stars turn pale,The mountains melt away,This flame within shall never fail,But live in endless day.

SUMMER TIME

I love to hear the little birdsThat carol on the trees;I love the gentle, murmuring stream;I love the evening breeze.I love to hear the busy humOf honey-making bee,And learn a lesson, – hard to learn, —Of patient industry.I love to think of Him who madeThose pleasant things for me,Who gave me life, and health, and strength,And eyes, that I might see.The child who raises, morn and eve,In prayer its tiny voiceWho grieves whene’er its parents grieve,And joys when they rejoice, —In whose bright eyes young genius glows,Whose heart, without a blot,Is fresh and pure as summer’s rose, —That child’s a sunny spot.

LIKE JESUS

I want to be like Jesus,So lowly and so meek;For no one marked an angry word,Whoever heard him speak.I want to be like Jesus,So frequently in prayer;Alone upon the mountain top,He met his Father there.I want to be like Jesus:I never, never find,That he, though persecuted, wasTo any one unkind.I want to be like Jesus,Engaged in doing good;So that of me it may be said,I have done what I could.

I HAVE A HOME

I have a home in which to live,A bed to rest upon,Good food to eat, and fire to warm,And raiment to put on.Kind parents, full of gentle love,Brothers and sisters, too,With many faithful, loving friends,Who teach me what to do.How many little children haveNo food, nor clothes to wear,No house, nor home, nor parents kind,To guide them by their care.For all Thy bounty, O my God,May I be grateful found,And ever show my love to Thee,By loving all around.

GOD

God! – What a great and holy name!Oh! who can speak His worth?By saints in heaven He is adored,Obeyed by men on earthAnd yet a little child may bendAnd say: “My Father and my Friend.”The glorious sun, which blazes high,The moon, more pale and dim,And all the stars which fill the sky,Are made and ruled by Him:And yet a child may ask His care,And call upon His name in prayer.And this large world of ours below,The waters and the land,And all the trees and flowers that grow,Were fashioned by His hand;Yes, – and He forms our infant race,And even I may seek His face.

THE BIRD’S NEST

There’s a nest in the hedge-row,Half bid by the leaves,And the sprays, white with blossom,Bend o’er it like eaves.God gives birds their lodging,He gives them their food,And they trust He will give themWhatever is good.Ah! when our rich blessings,My child, we forget;When for some little troubleWe murmur and fret;Hear sweet voices singingIn hedges and trees:Shall we be less thankful,Less trustful than these?

THE LARK

Ah! little lark, I see you there,So very, very high;Just like a little, tiny speckUp in the clear blue sky.How good is He, who strengthens thusYour slight and tender wing,And teaches such a little throatSo sweet a song to sing.

EFFORT

Scorn not the slightest word nor deed,Nor deem it void of power;There’s fruit in each wind-wafted seed,That waits its natal hour.A whispered word may touch the heart,And call it back to life;A look of love bid sin depart,And still unholy strife.No act falls fruitless; none can tellHow vast its powers may be,Nor what results, unfolded, dwellWithin it, silently.Work on, – despair not, – bring thy mite,Nor care how small it be;God is with all who serve the right,The holy, true, and free.

THE SEA SHELL

There is found a tiny sea shell,Half-imbedded in the sand,Sometimes flashing in the moonlight,Like a diamond on the strand.And from out the winding chambersThat are hid within the shell,Ever steals a curious music,That doth never sink nor swell.But, like the far-off voice of ocean,Murmurs forth its monotone,Holding thus within its bosomE’er an ocean of its own.Thus the sea shells ever gatherLittle oceans in their breasts,Which do echo there for everOcean’s hymn, which never rests.Thus the soul will echo music,Born in heaven, and not of earth;And give praises all, for ever,To the One that gave it birth.

GOD IS GOOD

Morn amid the mountains,Lovely solitude,Gushing streams and fountains,Murmur, “God is good.”Now the glad sun, breaking,Pours a golden flood;Deepest vales awaking,Echo, “God is good.”Wake and join the chorus,Man with soul endued!He, whose smile is o’er us,God, – our God, – is good.

DESPISE NOT SIMPLE THINGS

Despise not simple things:The humblest flower that wakesIn early spring, to scent the airOf woodland brakes,Should have thy love as wellAs blushing parlor rose,That never felt the perfect breathOf nature round it close.Despise not simple things:The poor demand thy love,As well as those who in the hallsOf splendor move.The beggar at thy doorThou shouldst not e’er despise;For that may be a noble heartWhich ’neath his tatters lies.Despise not little things:An ant can teach of toil;The buttercup can light the heartWith its own pleasant smile;’Tis not from towering heights aloneThe noble thought within us springs;There’s something holy and sublimeIn the love of simple things.

THE VIOLET

“Oh, mother! mother! only look!See what I’ve got for thee;I found it close beside the brook, —This pretty violet, – see.“And father says there will be moreSo, mother, when they come,We’ll pick my little basket full,And bring them with us home.“And, mother, – only listen now!’Tis very strange, indeed, —This pretty flower, with leaves and all,Was once a little seed.“When it was planted in the ground,The sun shone very bright,And made the little seed so warm,It grew with all its might.”“Yes, Charles: the bright sun made it warm,’Twas wet with rain and dew;The leaves came first, and then, ere long,We found the violet blue.“Charley, I think when we are good,Obedient, and kind,Good feelings, like the little flowers,Are growing in the mind.“But when we suffer evil thoughtsTo grow and flourish there,Then they are like the noxious weeds,That choke the flowerets fair.”

CHILD’S TALENT

God intrusts to allTalents, few or many;None so young or small,That they have not any.Though the great and wiseMay have more in number,Yet my own I prize,And they must not slumber.Little drops of rain.Bring the springing flowers;And I may attainMuch by little powers.Every little mite,Every little measure,Helps to spread the light,Helps to swell the treasure.

THE STARS ARE COMING

“See, the stars are comingIn the far blue skies;Mother, look! they brighten;Are they angels’ eyes?”“No, my child; the lustreOf the stars is given,Like the hues of flowers,By the God of heaven.”“Mother, if I study,Sure He’ll make me knowWhy the stars He kindled,O’er our earth to glow?”“Child! what God created,Has a glorious aim;Thine it is to worship, —Thine to love His name.”

THE FLOWERS

God might have made the earth bring forthEnough for great and small,The oak tree and the cedar tree,Without a flower at all.He might have made enough, – enoughFor every want of ours, —For luxury, medicine, and food,And yet have made no flowers.Then wherefore, wherefore were they made,And dyed with rainbow light,All fashioned with supremest grace,Upspringing day and night.In fertile valleys, green and low,And on the mountains high,And in the silent wilderness,Where no one passes by.Our outward life requires them not, —Then wherefore had they birth?To minister delight to man,And beautify the earth.To comfort man, – to whisper hope,Whene’er his faith is dim;For He, who careth for the flowers,Will surely care for him.

LITTLE BY LITTLE

One step, and then another,And the longest walk is ended;One stitch and then another,And the largest rent is mendedOne brick upon another,And the highest wall is made;One flake upon another,And the deepest snow is laid.So the little coral workers,By their slow, but constant, motion,Have built those pretty islandsIn the distant, dark blue ocean;And the noblest undertakingsMan’s wisdom hath conceived,By oft-repeated effortsHave been patiently achieved.

NEVER, MY CHILD, FORGET TO PRAY

Never, my child, forget to pray,Whate’er the business of the day;If happy dreams have blessed thy sleep,Or startling fears have made thee weep.With holy thoughts begin the day,And ne’er, my child, forget to pray;Ask Him, by whom the birds are fed,To give to thee thy daily bread.If wealth her bounty should bestow,Praise Him from whom all blessings flow;If He, who gave, should take away,Never, my child, forget to pray.The time will come, when thou wilt missA father’s and a mother’s kiss;And then, my child, perchance thou’lt see,Some who, in prayer, ne’er bend the knee;From such examples turn away,And ne’er, my child, forget to pray.

THE CHILD’S PRAYER

I am a very little child,Yet God, who dwells above,Will hear me, if I rightly pray,And answer me in love.Heavenly Father! wilt thou blessMy father and my mother;And also bless my sister dear;And bless my baby brother.Forgive me, if I’ve been to-dayA very naughty child;And teach me how I may becomeA boy both good and mild.And keep me out of every ill;And teach me how to pray,That I may be a better childOn every coming day.

A CHILD-LIKE SPIRIT

Father, I know that all my lifeIs portioned out for me,The changes that will surely come,I do not fear to see;I ask Thee for a present mind,Intent on pleasing thee.I ask thee for a thoughtful love,Through constant watching wise,To meet the glad with joyful smiles,And wipe the weeping eyes;A heart at leisure from itself,To soothe and sympathize.I would not have the restless willThat hurries to and fro,And seeks for some great thing to do,Or secret thing to know:I would be treated as a child,And guided where I go.Wherever in the world I am,In whatsoe’er estate,I have a fellowship with heartsTo keep and cultivate;A work of lowly love to do,For Him on whom I wait.I ask Thee for the daily strengthTo none that ask denied;A mind to blend with outward life,While keeping at Thy side;Content to fill a little space,If Thou be glorified.And if some things I do not askIn my cup of blessing be,I’d have my spirit filled the moreWith grateful love to Thee, —More careful not to serve Thee much,But please Thee perfectly.