Part 15 (1/2)
WE SHOULD HEAR THE ANGELS SINGING.
If we only sought to brighten Every pathway dark with care, If we only tried to lighten All the burdens others bear, We should hear the angels singing All around us, night and day; We should feel that they were winging At our side their upward way!
If we only strove to cherish Every pure and holy thought, Till within our hearts should perish All that is with evil fraught, We should hear the angels singing All around us, night and day; We should feel that they were winging At our side their upward way!
If it were our aim to ponder On the good that we might win, Soon our feet would cease to wander In forbidden paths of sin; We should hear the angels singing All around us, night and day; We should feel that they were winging At our side their upward way!
If we only did our duty, Thinking not what it might cost, Then the earth would wear new beauty Fair as that in Eden lost; We should hear the angels singing All around us, night and day; We should feel that they were winging At our side their upward way!
KATE CAMERON.
MY LITTLE HERO.
”How we wish that we knew a hero!”
Say the children, pressing round; ”Will you tell us if such a wonder In London streets can be found?”
I point from my study-window At a lad who is pa.s.sing by: ”My darlings, there goes a hero; You will know his oft-heard cry.”
”'Tis the chimney-sweep, dear father, In his jacket so worn and old; What can _he_ do that is brave and true, Wandering out in the cold?”
Says Maudie, ”I thought that a hero Was a man with a handsome face.”
”And I pictured him all in velvet dressed, With a sword,” whispered little Grace.
”Mine is only a 'sweeper,' children, His deeds all unnoticed, unknown; Yet I think he is one of the heroes G.o.d sees and will mark for his own.
”Out there he looks eager and cheerful, No matter how poorly he fares; No sign that his young heart is heavy With the weight of unchildish cares.
[Ill.u.s.tration: MY LITTLE HERO.]
”Home means to him but a dingy room, A father he shudders to see; Alas for the worse than neglected sons Who have such a father as he!
”And a mother who lies on a ragged bed, So sick and worn and sad; No friend has she but this one pale boy-- This poor little sweeper-lad,
”So rough to others, and all unskilled, Yet to her most tender and true, Oft waking with patient cheerfulness To soothe her the whole night through.
”He wastes no time on his own scant meals, But goes forth with the morning sun; Never a moment is wasted Till his long day's work is done.
”Then home to the dreary attic Where his mother lies lonely all day, Unheeding the boys who would tempt him To linger with them and play.
”Because she is helpless and lonely, He is doing a hero's part; For loving and self-denying Are the tests of a n.o.ble heart.”
[Ill.u.s.tration: {A robin sits on a snowy branch}]
ROBIN REDBREAST.