 | The American common-place book of poetry |  |
The Sunday School.—Mrs. Sigourney.
Group after group are gathering. Such as pressed
Once to their Savior's arms, and gently laid
Their cherub heads upon his shielding breast,
Though sterner souls the fond approach forbade,—
Group after group glide on with noiseless tread,
And round Jehovah's sacred altar meet,
Where holy thoughts in infant hearts are bred,
And holy words their ruby lips repeat,
Oft with a chastened glance, in modulation sweet.
Once to their Savior's arms, and gently laid
Their cherub heads upon his shielding breast,
Though sterner souls the fond approach forbade,—
Group after group glide on with noiseless tread,
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Where holy thoughts in infant hearts are bred,
And holy words their ruby lips repeat,
Oft with a chastened glance, in modulation sweet.
Yet some there are, upon whose childish brows
Wan poverty hath done the work of care.
Look up, ye sad ones!—'tis your Father's house,
Beneath whose consecrated dome you are;
More gorgeous robes ye see, and trappings rare,
And watch the gaudier forms that gayly move,
And deem, perchance, mistaken as you are,
The “coat of many colors” proves His love,
Whose sign is in the heart, and whose reward above.
Wan poverty hath done the work of care.
Look up, ye sad ones!—'tis your Father's house,
Beneath whose consecrated dome you are;
More gorgeous robes ye see, and trappings rare,
And watch the gaudier forms that gayly move,
And deem, perchance, mistaken as you are,
The “coat of many colors” proves His love,
Whose sign is in the heart, and whose reward above.
And ye, blessed laborers in this humble sphere,
To deeds of saintlike charity inclined,
Who, from your cells of meditation dear,
Come forth to gird the weak, untutored mind,—
Yet ask no payment, save one smile refined
Of grateful love,—one tear of contrite pain,—
Meekly ye forfeit to your mission kind
The rest of earthly Sabbaths.—Be your gain
A Sabbath without end, mid yon celestial plain.
To deeds of saintlike charity inclined,
Who, from your cells of meditation dear,
Come forth to gird the weak, untutored mind,—
Yet ask no payment, save one smile refined
Of grateful love,—one tear of contrite pain,—
Meekly ye forfeit to your mission kind
The rest of earthly Sabbaths.—Be your gain
A Sabbath without end, mid yon celestial plain.
| The American common-place book of poetry | |