 | Sermons and songs of the Christian life |  |
163
LITTLE WILLIE WAKING UP.
Some have thought that in the dawning,
In our being's freshest glow,
God is nearer little children
Than their parents ever know,
And that if you listen sharply,
Better things than you can teach,
And a sort of mystic wisdom
Trickles through their careless speech.
In our being's freshest glow,
God is nearer little children
Than their parents ever know,
And that if you listen sharply,
Better things than you can teach,
And a sort of mystic wisdom
Trickles through their careless speech.
How it is, I cannot answer,
But I knew a little child
Who among the thyme and clover
And the bees was running wild;
And he came one summer evening,
With his ringlets o'er his eyes,
And his hat was torn in pieces
Chasing bees and butterflies.
But I knew a little child
Who among the thyme and clover
And the bees was running wild;
And he came one summer evening,
With his ringlets o'er his eyes,
And his hat was torn in pieces
Chasing bees and butterflies.
“Now I'll go to bed, dear mother,
For I'm very tired of play!”
And he said his “Now I lay me”
In a kind of careless way;
And he drank the cooling water
From his little silver cup,
And said gayly, “When it's morning,
May the angels take me up!”
For I'm very tired of play!”
And he said his “Now I lay me”
In a kind of careless way;
And he drank the cooling water
From his little silver cup,
And said gayly, “When it's morning,
May the angels take me up!”
Down he sank with roguish laughter
In his little trundle bed,
And the kindly god of slumber
Showered poppies o'er his head.
“What could mean his speaking strangely?”
Asked his musing mother then,
“Oh 't was nothing but his prattle,—
What could he of angels ken?
In his little trundle bed,
164
Showered poppies o'er his head.
“What could mean his speaking strangely?”
Asked his musing mother then,
“Oh 't was nothing but his prattle,—
What could he of angels ken?
“There he lies, how sweet and placid!
And his breathing comes and goes
Like a zephyr moving softly,
And his cheek is like a rose;
But his mother leaned to listen
If his breathing could be heard;
“Oh,” she murmured, “if the angels
Took my darling at his word!”
And his breathing comes and goes
Like a zephyr moving softly,
And his cheek is like a rose;
But his mother leaned to listen
If his breathing could be heard;
“Oh,” she murmured, “if the angels
Took my darling at his word!”
Night within its folding mantle
Has the sleepers both beguiled,
And within its soft embracings
Rest the mother and the child;
Up she starteth from her dreaming,
For a sound has struck her ear,
And it comes from little Willie
Lying on his trundle near.
Has the sleepers both beguiled,
And within its soft embracings
Rest the mother and the child;
Up she starteth from her dreaming,
For a sound has struck her ear,
And it comes from little Willie
Lying on his trundle near.
Up she springeth, for it striketh
On her troubled ear again,
And his breath in louder fetches
Travels from his lungs in pain;
And his eyes are fixing upward
On some face beyond the room,
And the blackness of the spoiler,
From his cheek has chased the bloom.
On her troubled ear again,
And his breath in louder fetches
Travels from his lungs in pain;
And his eyes are fixing upward
On some face beyond the room,
And the blackness of the spoiler,
From his cheek has chased the bloom.
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Never more his “Now I lay me”
Will be said from mother's knee;
Never more among the clover
Will he chase the humble-bee;
Through the night she watched her darling,
Now despairing, now in hope,
And about the break of morning
Did the angels take him up.
Will be said from mother's knee;
Never more among the clover
Will he chase the humble-bee;
Through the night she watched her darling,
Now despairing, now in hope,
And about the break of morning
Did the angels take him up.
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