On our way rejoicing, As we homeward move, Hearken to our praises, O Thou G.o.d of love.
Is there grief or sadness?
Thine it cannot be.
Is our sky beclouded?
Clouds are not from Thee.
If with honest-hearted Love for G.o.d and man, Day by day Thou find us Doing what we can, Thou who giv"st the seedtime Wilt give large increase, Crown the head with blessings, Fill the heart with peace.
On our way rejoicing Gladly let us go; Conquered hath our Leader; Vanquished is our foe.
Christ without, our safety; Christ within, our joy; Who, if we be faithful, Can our hope destroy?
--_John Samuel Bewley Monsell_.
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[Ill.u.s.tration]
JESUS BLESSING THE LITTLE CHILDREN By Bernard Plockhorst (1825- )
GOING TO JESUS
"The Master has come over Jordan."
Said Hannah the mother one day; He is healing the people who throng Him With a touch of His finger, they say.
"And now I shall carry the children, Little Rachel and Samuel and John; I shall carry the baby Esther For the Lord to look upon."
The father looked at her kindly, But he shook his head and smiled.
"Now who but a doting mother Would think of a thing so wild?
"If the children were tortured by demons, Or dying of fever, "t were well; Or had they the taint of the leper, Like many in Israel."
"Nay, do not hinder me. Nathan, I feel such a burden of care; If I carry it to the Master, Perhaps I shall leave it there.
"If He lay His hands on the children, My heart will be lighter, I know; For a blessing for ever and ever Will follow them as they go."
So over the hills of Judah, Along the vine-rows green.
With Esther asleep on her bosom, And Rachel her brothers between,
"Mong the people who hung on His teaching, Or waited His touch or His word, Through the row of proud Pharisees listening She pa.s.sed to the feet of her Lord.
"Now why shouldst thou hinder the Master,"
Said Peter, "with children like these?
Seest not how from morning to evening He teacheth, and healeth disease?"
Then Christ said, "Forbid not the children; Permit them to come unto Me:"
And He took in His arms little Esther, And Rachel He set on His knee.
And the heavy heart of the mother Was lifted all earth-care above, As He laid His hands on the brothers, And blest them with tenderest love;
As He said of the babes in His bosom, "Of such is the kingdom of heaven:"
And strength for all duty and trial That hour to her spirit was given.
--_Julia Gill_ [End ill.u.s.tration]
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OF SUCH IS THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN
I think, when I read that sweet story of old, When Jesus was here among men, How He called little children as lambs to His fold, I should like to have been with them then.
I wish that His hands had been placed on my head, That His arm had been thrown around me, And that I might have seen His kind look when He said, "Let the little ones come unto Me."
Yet still to His footstool in prayer I may go, And ask for a share in His love; And if I thus earnestly seek Him below, I shall see Him and hear Him above,
In that beautiful place He has gone to prepare For all who are washed and forgiven; And many dear children shall be with Him there, For "of such is the kingdom of heaven."
But thousands and thousands who wander and fall Never heard of that heavenly home; I wish they could know there is room for them all, And that Jesus has bid them to come.
I long for the joy of that glorious time, The sweetest, the brightest, the best, When the dear children of every clime Shall crowd to His arms and be blest.
--_Jemima Thompson Luke_.
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SUN OF MY SOUL
Sun of my soul, Thou Saviour dear, It is not night if Thou be near; Oh, may no earth-born cloud arise To hide Thee from Thy servant"s eyes!
When soft the dews of kindly sleep My weary eyelids gently steep, Be my last thought--how sweet to rest Forever on my Saviour"s breast.
Abide with me from morn till eve, For without Thee I cannot live; Abide with me when night is nigh, For without Thee I dare not die.
Be near to bless me when I wake, Ere through the world my way I take; Abide with me till in Thy love I lose myself in heaven above.
--_John Keble_.
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DAY BY DAY
Every day has its dawn, Its soft and silent eve, Its noontide hours of bliss or bale,-- Why should we grieve?
Why do we heap huge mounds of years Before us and behind, And scorn the little days that pa.s.s Like angels on the wind?
Each turning round a small, sweet face, As beautiful as near; Because it has so small a face We will not see it clear:
We will not clasp it as it flies, And kiss its lips and brow: We will not bathe our wearied souls In its delicious Now.
And so it turns from us, and goes A way in sad disdain: Though we would give our lives for it, It never comes again.
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WHAT CAN LITTLE HANDS DO?