Take my childish hand in Thine, Guide these little feet of mine, And the world shall ever see Christ, the holy child, in me. AMEN.
Lord, though Thy home is in the sky, Thou art not far away; Thou lookest down with loving eye When little children pray.
We thank Thee for Thy tender care, And for Thy precious love, For all the beauty Thou hast made Of earth and heaven above. AMEN.
Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me; Bless Thy little lamb to-night.
Through the darkness be Thou near me; Keep me safe till morning light.
All this day Thy hand has led me, And I thank Thee for Thy care; Thou hast warmed me, clothed and fed me, Listen to my evening prayer.
Let my sins be all forgiven, Bless the friends I love so well; Take us all at last to heaven, Happy there with Thee to dwell. AMEN.
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My Father in heaven, I thank Thee for my many blessings. I love Thee very much. Help me to love Thee more and to obey Thee better. Forgive all my sins, I pray Thee. Give me good thoughts. Give me understanding. Bless all my friends and keep them and me, both now and forever. AMEN.
--_By courtesy of the Clarke School, Northampton, Ma.s.s_.
A CHILD"S GRACE
Some hae meat and canna eat, And some wad eat that want it; But we hae meat and we can eat, And sae the Lord be thankit. AMEN.
--_Robert Burns_.
GRACE FOR A CHILD
Here, a little child, I stand, Heaving up my either hand; Cold as paddocks though they be, Here I lift them up to Thee, For a benison to fall On our meat and on us all. AMEN.
--_Robert Herrick_.
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OLD TIME VERSES FOR LITTLE CHILDREN
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AGAINST IDLENESS AND MISCHIEF
How doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour, And gather honey all the day From every opening flower!
How skillfully she builds her cell!
How neat she spreads the wax!
And labors hard to store it well.
With the sweet food she makes.
In works of labor or of skill I would be busy, too: For Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do.
In books, or work, or healthful play, Let my first years be pa.s.s"d; That I may give for every day Some good account at last.
--_Isaac Watts_.
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AGAINST PRIDE IN CLOTHES
How proud we are! how fond to show Our clothes, and call them rich and new, When the poor sheep and silkworm wore That very clothing long before.
The tulip and the b.u.t.terfly Appear in gayer coats than I; Let me be dress"d fine as I will, Flies, worms, and flowers exceed me still.
Then will I set my heart to find Inward adornings of the mind; Knowledge and virtue, truth and grace!
These are the robes of richest dress.
No more shall worms with me compare, This is the raiment angels wear; The Son of G.o.d, when here below, Put on this best apparel, too.
It never fades, it ne"er grows old, Nor fears the rain, nor moth, nor mould; It takes no spot, but still refines; The more "t is worn the more it shines.
In this on earth would I appear, Then go to heaven and wear it there; G.o.d will approve it in His sight, "Tis His own work and His delight.
--_Isaac Watts_.
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THE ANT, OR EMMET
These emmets, how little they are in our eyes!
We tread them to dust, and a troop of them dies, Without our regard or concern; Yet, as wise as we are, if we went to their school, There"s many a sluggard and many a fool Some lessons of wisdom might learn.
They wear not their time out in sleeping or play, But gather up corn in a sunshiny day, And for winter they lay up their stores; They manage their work in such regular forms One would think they foresaw all the frosts and the storms, And so brought their food within doors.
But I have less sense than a poor creeping ant If I take not due care for the things I shall want, Nor provide against dangers in time; When death or old age shall once stare in my face, What a wretch shall I be in the end of my days If I trifle a way all their prime!
Now, while my strength and my youth are in bloom, Let me think what shall serve me when sickness shall come, And pray that my sins be forgiven; Let me read in good books, and believe, and obey, That, when death turns me out of this cottage of clay, I may dwell in a palace in heaven.
--_Isaac Watts_.
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A MORNING SONG
My G.o.d, who makes the sun to know His proper hour to rise, And, to give light to all below, Doth send him round the skies.
When from the chambers of the east His morning race begins, He never tires, nor stops to rest, But round the world he shines.
So, like the sun, would I fulfill The business of the day; Begin my work betimes, and still March on my heavenly way.
Give me, O Lord, Thine early grace, Nor let my soul complain, That the young morning of my days Has all been spent in vain.
--_Isaac Watts_.