miscellaneous poems.
117
He, unto whom thy grand-sire bowed—the loved, and yet the feared;
And when thou bendeth on thy knee, and prayeth for God's grace,
Forget not him whose aged form lies 'neath that holy place.
And when thou bendeth on thy knee, and prayeth for God's grace,
Forget not him whose aged form lies 'neath that holy place.
CHILDHOOD'S PRAYER.
It is a pure and holy thing,
Young childhood's simple prayer,
So little of man's worldliness,
So much of Heaven seems there.
Their eyes upraised and small hands clasped,
While dwell their lips upon
Their Savior's words, (when agonized)
"Father, thy will be done."
Young childhood's simple prayer,
So little of man's worldliness,
So much of Heaven seems there.
Their eyes upraised and small hands clasped,
While dwell their lips upon
Their Savior's words, (when agonized)
"Father, thy will be done."
Ah! mother, gaze upon thy child,
Thou know'st he now is pure;
How much of misery—of crime—
May that young heart endure!
Thou know'st he now is pure;
How much of misery—of crime—
May that young heart endure!
