THE PREACHER'S SON The preacher's son! Eyes off him, please! Away with all your indignities! A boy's a boy, despite the coat A collar round his father's throat. Drape not his childhood days in black, Nor whisper things behind his back. Nor write for him a sterner code Than other children down the road; Steal not from him one hour of fun Because he is a preacher's son. Why do you watch the preacher's boy And censure his brief time of joy? Why shake your heads and gravely say His child shall walk a narrower way Tharf yours or mine? When mischief breaks, We smile at other boys' mistakes: Others from grim perfection fall And no one mentions it at all, Yet at some petty wrong he's done, The world exclaims: "The preacher's son!" So for the preacher's boy I plead— Grant him a normal life to lead. Young, full of life, is he, and vim, Do not expect too much from him: Let him be free to romp and play. And be a boy with boys today, Do not with a censorious eye, His petty failings magnify: The days of youth are sw iftly done, Don't spoil them for the preacher's son. — A Pastor's W ife And gently fashioned it one day; And as my fingers pressed it still, it moved and yielded at my w ill. I came again when days were past; The bit of clay was hard at last. The form I gave it still it bore, But I could change that form no more. I took a piece of living clay And gently formed it day by day, MOLDING A LIFE I took a piece of plastic clay
And molded with my power and art A young child's soft and yielding heart. I came again when days were gone; It was a man I looked upon. He still that early impress wore, And I could change it nevermore. CHRISTIAN TESTIMONY When you think, when you speak, when you read, when you write, When you sing, when you walk, when you seek for delight—■ To be kept from all evil at home and abroad, Live always under the "eye of the Lord." Whatever you think, both in joy and in woe, Think nothing you would not like Jesus to know, Whatever you say, in a whisper or clear, Say nothing you would not like Jesus to hear. Whatever you read, though the page may allure. Read nothing of which you are per fectly sure Consternation at once would be seen in your look If God should say solemnly, "Show me that book." Whatever you write, in haste or with heed. W rite nothing you would not like Jesus to read. Whatever you sing, in the midst of your glees, Sing nothing that God's listening ear could displease. Whatever the pastime in which you engage. For the cheering of youth or the solace of age, Turn away from each pleasure you'd shrink from pursuing Were God to look down and say, "What are you doing?"
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