Mark Gale CH ILDREN By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Come to me, O ye Children! For I he^ar you at your play, And the questions that perplexed me Have vanished quite away. Ye open the eastern windows, That look towards the sun, Where thoughts are singing swallows And the brooks of morning run. Ah! what would the world be to us If the children were no more? W e should dread the desert behind us Worse than the dark before. What the leaves are to the forest, With light and air for food, Ere their sweet and tender juices Have been hardened into wood,— That to the world are children; Through them it feels the glow O f a brighter, sunnier climate Than reaches the trunks below. For what are all our contrivings, And the wisdom of our books, When compared with your caresses, And the gladness of your looks? Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said; For ye are living poems, And all the rest are dead.
Marie, Dannie and Baby Louise Larsen A CH ILD 'S THOUGHT OF G O D By Elizabeth Barrett Browning They say that God lives very high; But, if you look above the pines, You cannot see our God; and why? And, if you dig down in the mines, You never see Him in the gold; Though from Him all that’s glory shines. God is so good He wears a fold Of heaven and earth across His face, Like secrets kept for love, untold. But still I feel that His embrace Slides down by thrills through all things made,— Through slight and sound of every place. As if my tender mother laid On my shut lips her kisses’ pressure, Half waking me at night, and said “Who kissed you through the dark, dear guesser ?”
Bobby and Billy Brown CH ILD 'S VESPER H YM N By Fronds Turner Palgrave Thou that once on mother’s knee Wert a little one like me, When I wake, or go to bed, Lay Thy hands about my head; Let me feel Thee very near, Jesus Christ, our Saviour dear. Be beside me in the light, Close by me through all the night; Make me gentle, kind, and true, Do what mother bids me do; Help and cheer me when I fret, And forgive when I forget. Once wert Thou in cradle laid, Baby bright in manger shade, With the oxen and the cows, And the lambs outside the house: Now Thou art above the sky; Canst Thou hear a baby cry? Thou art nearer when we pray, Since Thou art so far away; Thou my little hymn wilt hear, Jesus Christ, our Saviour dear, Thou that once on mother’s knee Wert a little one like me.
Our thanks to our friends for allowing us to use the pictures of their children. — Ed.
Ann Barton
Timothy Babb
Barbara Jean Plesich
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