Various - Devotional Poetry for the Children

There is a little mystic clock,
No human eye hath seen,
That beateth on, – and beateth on, —
From morning until e’en.

And when the soul is wrapped in sleep,
All silent and alone,
It ticks and ticks the livelong night,
And never runneth down.

Oh! wondrous is that work of art,
Which knells the passing hour;
But art ne’er formed, nor mind conceived,
The life-clock’s magic power.

Not set in gold, nor decked with gems,
By wealth and pride possessed;
But rich or poor, or high or low,
Each bears it in his breast.

Such is the clock that measures life, —
Of flesh and spirit blended, —
And thus ’t will run within the breast,
Till that strange life is ended.

Lo! the heavens are breaking,
Pure and bright above;
Light and life awaking,
Murmur, “God is love.”

Music now is ringing,
Through the leafy grove,
Feathered songsters, singing,
Warble, “God is love.”

Wake, my heart, and springing,
Spread thy wings above;
Soaring still, and singing, —
Singing, “God is love.”

A minute, – how soon it is flown!
And yet, how important it is!
God calls every moment His own, —
For all our existence is His:
And tho’ we may waste many moments each day,
He notices each that we squander away.

We should not a minute despise,
Although it so quickly is o’er;
We know that it rapidly flies,
And therefore should prize it the more.
Another, indeed, may appear in its stead;
But that precious minute, for ever, is fled.

’Tis easy to squander our years
In idleness, folly, and strife;
But, oh! no repentance nor tears
Can bring back one moment of life.
Then wisely improve all the time as it goes,
And life will be happy, and peaceful the close.

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.

Thine eye is on me always,
Thou knowest the way I take;
Thou seest me when I’m sleeping,
Thou seest me when I wake.

Thine arm is round about me,
Thy hand is underneath;
Thy love will still preserve me,
If I Thy laws do keep.

Thou art my present helper, —
Be Thou my daily guide;
Then I’ll be safe for ever,
Whatever may betide.

Oh! help me, dearest Father,
To walk in wisdom’s way,
That I, Thy loving child, may be
Through every future day,
And, by my loving actions, prove
That He who guardeth me is Love.

All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful, —
The Lord God made them all.

Each little flower that opens,
Each little bird that sings,
He made their glowing colors,
He made their shining wings.

The tall trees in the green wood,
The meadows where we play,
The rushes, by the water,
We gather every day, —

He gave us eyes to see them,
And lips, that we may tell
How great is God Almighty,
Who doeth all things well.

Almighty Father! Thou hast many blessings
In store for every loving child of Thine;
For this I pray, – Let me, Thy grace possessing,
Seek to be guided by Thy will divine.

Not for earth’s treasures, – for her joys the dearest, —
Would I my supplications raise to Thee;
Not for the hopes that to my heart are nearest,
But only that I give that heart to Thee.

I pray that Thou wouldst guide and guard me ever;
Cleanse, by Thy power, from every stain of sin;
I will Thy blessing ask on each endeavor,
And thus Thy promised peace my soul shall win.

I knew a little, sickly child,
The long, long summer’s day,
When all the world was green and bright,
Alone in bed to lay;
There used to come a little dove
Before his window small,
And sing to him with her sweet voice,
Out of the fir-tree tall.

And when the sick child better grew,
And he could creep along,
Close to that window he would come,
And listen to her song.
He was so gentle in his speech,
And quiet at his play,
He would not, for the world, have made,
That sweet bird fly away.

There is a Holy Dove that sings
To every listening child, —
That whispers to his little heart
A song more sweet and mild.
It is the Spirit of our God
That speaks to him within;
That leads him on to all things good,
And holds him back from sin.

And he must hear that “still, small voice,”
Nor tempt it to depart, —
The Spirit, great and wonderful,
That whispers in his heart.
He must be pure, and good, and true;
Must strive, and watch, and pray;
For unresisted sin, at last,
May drive that Dove away.

Teach us to pray
Oh, Father! we look up to Thee,
And this our one request shall be,
Teach us to pray.

Teach us to pray.
A form of words will not suffice, —
The heart must bring its sacrifice:
Teach us to pray.

Teach us to pray.
To whom shall we, Thy children, turn?
Teach Thou the lesson we would learn:
Teach us to pray.

Teach us to pray.
To Thee, alone, our hearts look up:
Prayer is our only door of hope;
Teach us to pray.

Suppose the little cowslip
Should hang its tiny cup,
And say, “I’m such a little flower,
I’d better not grow up.”
How many a weary traveler
Would miss the fragrant smell?
How many a little child would grieve
To miss it from the dell!

Suppose the glistening dew-drop,
Upon the grass, should say,
“What can a little dew-drop do?
I’d better roll away.”
The blade on which it rested,
Before the day was done,
Without a drop to moisten it,
Would wither in the sun.