Mark 10:14. 1 Cor. 1:27-29.
The little birds that sing and play
Amidst the branches of the trees,
In every accent seem to say,
“We’re happy, if but Him we please.”
The little lambs that skip and run
Across the fields of shaded grass,
Are happy in the morning sun,
While summer days so swiftly pass.
The little brook that bubbles by,
Speaks of the Shepherd’s tender care,
Whose goodness all their needs supply,
And gives them food and light and air.
The little leaves upon the trees,
Drink in the sun and rain and air;
They nod and bend to every breeze,
And speak of Him who put them there.
The little children ‘round Him pressed;
He took them in His arms of love;
While others frowned, He only “blessed”
And made them fit for Him above.
‘Twas little children sang His praise,
When in His Kingly state He rode;
Yea, rocks and hills, their voice may raise,
To sing hosannas to the Lord.
Then little children ne’er forget
The ONE who loved you unto death.
When trials come, ne’er frown nor fret,
But praise Him with your latest breath.
G. O. B.
ML 08/19/1900