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Devotional Poetry for the Children
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And they trust He will give them
Whatever is good.
Ah! when our rich blessings,
My child, we forget;
When for some little trouble
We murmur and fret;
Hear sweet voices singing
In 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 speck
Up in the clear blue sky.
How good is He, who strengthens thus
Your slight and tender wing,
And teaches such a little throat
So 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 tell
How vast its powers may be,
Nor what results, unfolded, dwell
Within 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 chambers
That 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 bosom
E’er an ocean of its own.
Thus the sea shells ever gather
Little oceans in their breasts,
Which do echo there for ever
Ocean’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 wakes
In early spring, to scent the air
Of woodland brakes,
Should have thy love as well
As blushing parlor rose,
That never felt the perfect breath
Whatever is good.
Ah! when our rich blessings,
My child, we forget;
When for some little trouble
We murmur and fret;
Hear sweet voices singing
In 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 speck
Up in the clear blue sky.
How good is He, who strengthens thus
Your slight and tender wing,
And teaches such a little throat
So 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 tell
How vast its powers may be,
Nor what results, unfolded, dwell
Within 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 chambers
That 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 bosom
E’er an ocean of its own.
Thus the sea shells ever gather
Little oceans in their breasts,
Which do echo there for ever
Ocean’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 wakes
In early spring, to scent the air
Of woodland brakes,
Should have thy love as well
As blushing parlor rose,
That never felt the perfect breath
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Так получилось, что книга ко мне попала в тяжелый эмоциональный кризис и многое мне дала. Написано актуально, тут многих полезных вещей, никакого злоу...
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