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.
BE KIND TO THE POOR
Turn not from him, who asks of thee
A portion of thy store;
Poor though in earthly goods thou be,
Thou yet canst give, - what's more,
The balm of comfort thou canst pour
Into his grieving mind,
Who oft is turned from wealth's proud door,
With many a word unkind.
Does any from the false world find
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,
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.
MORNING
Dear Lord, another day has come.
And through the hours of night,
In a good bed and quiet home
I've slept till morning light.
Then let me give Thee thanks and praise,
For Thou art very good;
Oh, teach my little heart to raise
The 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.
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.
EVENING
The day is gone, the silent night
Invites me to my peaceful bed;
But, Lord, I know that it is right
To 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 powers
To praise Thee, nor forget to pray.
Thou art most good. I can't tell all
That 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 way
To 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 bill
Would 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,
'T is to tarry a moment too long.
A LITTLE SONNET ABOUT LITTLE THINGS.
The little, smoky vapors
Produce the drops of rain;
These little drops commingle,
And form the boundless main.
Then, drops compose the fountains:
And little grains of sand
Compose 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.