Devotional Poetry for the Children

And this was all the children had,
On any day to eat;
They drank their water, ate their bread,
But never tasted meat.

One day, when snow was falling fast,
And piercing was the air,
I thought that I would go and see
How these poor children were.

Ere long I reached their cheerless home,
’Twas searched by every breeze;
When going in, the eldest child
I saw upon his knees.

I paused, and listened to the boy, —
He never raised his head;
But still went on and said, – “Give us
This day our daily bread.”

I waited till the child was done,
Still listening as he prayed;
And when he rose, I asked him why
The Lord’s Prayer he had said.

“Why, sir,” said he, “this morning, when
My mother went away,
She wept because, she said, she had
No bread for us to-day.

“She said, we children now must starve,
Our father being dead;
And then I told her not to cry,
For I could get some bread.

“Our Father, sir, the prayer begins,
Which makes me think that He,
As we have got no father here,
Would our kind father be.

“And then, you know, the prayer, sir, too,
Asks God for bread each day;
So, in the corner, sir, I went,
And that’s what made me pray.”

I quickly left that wretched room,
And went with fleeting feet;
And very soon was back again
With food enough to eat.

“I thought God heard me,” said the boy;
I answered with a nod;
I could not speak; but much I thought
Of that child’s faith in God.

TRUE REST

Sweet is the pleasure
Itself cannot spoil!
Is not true leisure
One with true toil?

Thou, that would taste it,
Still do thy best;
Use it, not waste it,
Else, ’tis no rest.

Wouldst behold beauty
Near thee, all round?
Only hath duty
Such a sight found.

Rest is not quitting
The busy career;
Rest is the fitting
Of self to its sphere.

’Tis the brook’s motion,
Clear without strife,
Fleeing to ocean,
After its life.

Deeper devotion
Nowhere hath knelt,
Fuller emotion
Heart never felt.

’Tis loving and serving,
The highest and best!
’Tis onward, – unswerving, —
And that is true rest.

ONE BY ONE

One by one the sands are flowing,
One by one the moments fall;
Some are coming, some are going, —
Do not strive to grasp them all.

One by one thy duties wait thee,