Devotional Poetry for the Children. Various

      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,

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