Devotional Poetry for the Children

Naught 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 wing
Backward their course to thee,
And in thy breast will prove a spring
Of 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 do
Through the long summer hours,
They make a home for the wandering birds,
And shelter the wild flowers.

How do the leaves fade
Beneath 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 falls
Until its part is done;
God gives us grace, like sap, and then
Some 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, – nigh
In 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 home