Mix and sift and stir and bake,
What goes into a birthday cake?
Eggs and butter and all things sweet —
Only a mother could make this treat.
Wishes and prayers and hopes and fears
For our little darling of tender years.
I think as I mix with a steady hand,
How God the Father has mixed and planned
A life for our boy, with its tears and song;
It’s perfectly wise, and it cannot be long:
It leads to Home in the Glory land
If only he follows where God has planned.
Now as I sift the fine white flour,
I pray for our son in temptation’s hour;
Teach him to come to the throne of grace,
And seek Thy help in the humble place:
He may sifted be, but he cannot fall
If he comes to Thee as his all in all.
I stir in the milk, like Thy holy Word
Which from a child his ears have heard,
And I pray that his soul thereby may grow
And be stirred to care for Thine own below
With the earnest love of his little heart,
Of Thy loving-kindness, a counterpart.
I kneel and commit this birthday treat
To the oven’s fervent baking heat,
And my heart goes up to Another One
Who had a beloved only Son.
The fire of judgment my Saviour bore
That our son might be pardoned forevermore.
Mix and sift and stir and bake —
Love goes into a birthday cake.
And if I brush a tear with my hand,
The love He gave, He will understand,
For as I’m working I think and pray
For our dear little son who is one today.
— RMS