Buttercups and daisies Are these human flowers! He who gave them hardships And a life of care, Gave them likewise hardy strength And patient hearts to bear. Mary Howitt SOME MURMUR WHEN THEIR SKY IS CLEAR Some murmur when their sky is clear, And wholly bright to view, If one small speck of dark appear In their great heaven of blue. One ray of God's good mercy, gild In palaces are hearts that ask, And all good things denied. (Love that not ever seems to tire) Such rich provision made. Richard Chevenix Trench DUTY So nigh is grandeur to our dust, So near is God to man, When Duty whispers low "Thou must," The youth replies, "I can." Ralph Waldo Emerson TO A CHILD Small service is true service while it lasts: Of humblest friends, bright creature! scorn not one: The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun. William Wordsworth WRITTEN IN A LITTLE LADY'S LITTLE ALBUM Hearts good and true Have wishes few In narrow circles bounded, And hope that lives On what God gives Is Christian hope well founded. Small things are best; Grief and unrest To rank and wealth are given; But little things On little wings Bear little souls to heaven. Frederick William Faber A FAREWELL My fairest child, I have no song to give you; I'll tell you how to sing a clearer carol Than lark who hails the dawn on breezy down; To earn yourself a purer poet's laurel Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever; Do noble things, not dream them, all day long: And so make Life, and Death, and that For Ever One grand sweet song. Charles Kingsley REEDS OF INNOCENCE Piping down the valleys wild, And he laughing said to me: "Pipe a song about a lamb!" So I piped with merry cheer. "Piper, pipe that song again;" So I piped: he wept to hear. "Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe; Sing thy songs of happy cheer!" So I sang the same again, While he wept with joy to hear. "Piper, sit thee down and write In a book that all may read." So he vanished from my sight; And I plucked a hollow reed, And I made a rural pen, And I stained the water clear, And I wrote my happy songs Every child may joy to hear. William Blake |