O yes, little artist, you certainly may;
But mind that it’s very correct:
And don’t let your colors be all sober and gray,
But some of your sunshine reflect!
My lips with a smile I’ll endeavor to curl,
Since my orders are “not to look sad!”
Besides, if the artist’s my dear little girl,
I think I have cause to be glad.
Well! what shall I think of, or where shall I look
To make me seem happy and bright?
Fix my eyes on a picture, or else on a book?
Well! dear little artist, “all right!”
I remember one day that my likeness was drawn—
Ah! drawn by the light of God’s Word:
A light that eclipses the light of the morn,
The lamp is in Romans, the third!
My picture was drawn with the pencil of truth,
My features and character too;
I find there the sins both of age and of youth
Are strikingly brought out to view.
But the blots and the blemishes—numberless stains,
And they were much blacker than mud,
(When I found out how useless, how helpless my pains,)
Have all been washed out in the blood.
The blood of the Saviour—the Lord from above,—
Who died upon Calvary’s tree;
And who from the glory sends tidings of love,—
Salvation for you and for me!
For the aged and young, whom the world has enticed,
And Satan and sin have enslaved;
If we but believe on the Lord Jesus Christ,
The Scriptures say, “We shall be saved!”
ML 11/24/1946