A little child with rapid steps
Tripped by her father's side,
Her eyes with wonder larger grew
As nature's blooms she spied.
"Who makes these lovely little flowers,
And feeds them with the dew,
Who holds the fleecy silver clouds,
And lets the sunbeams through."
The birds who sing 'mid shady trees,
"Who made them all?" she cried.
Her father turned with sharp reply,
"Chance made these things, my child."
She looked into her father's face
With eager questioning glance,
"I must say thank you for them all;
Please tell me, who made chance?"
The skeptic's little child had reached
Deep depths in that hard heart;
He did not answer her until
He felt his doubts depart.
"God made and loved the world, my child,
And so He gave His Son;
Whoever will believe on Him
Hath endless life begun."
"I do believe His blood was shed,
On Him my sins were laid;
Upon the Cross sin's debt was paid,
For me atonement made.
I'll turn to Him who gave so much,
And thank Him 'mid my tears;
My heart, myself, my all I give
To Him for endless years."
This story true a message brings,
O! may it speak to you;
Behold, believe, receive the Lord
Who died to save you too.
Earth's passing scenes are changing fast,
Your life glides swiftly by;
Dear friend, take now God's only way,
No other leads on high.