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But still I feel that His embrace Slides down by thrills, through all things made, Through sight and sound of every place:
As if my tender mother laid On my shut lids, her kisses' pressure, Half-waking me at night; and said "Who kissed you through the dark, dear guesser?"
Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
_The Lamb_
Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee, Gave thee life and bade thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice?
Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Little lamb, I'll tell thee; Little lamb, I'll tell thee.
He is called by thy name, For He calls himself a Lamb.
He is meek and He is mild, He became a little child.
I a child and thou a lamb, We are called by His name.
Little lamb, G.o.d bless thee!
Little lamb, G.o.d bless thee!
William Blake.
_Night and Day_[A]
When I run about all day, When I kneel at night to pray, G.o.d sees.
When I'm dreaming in the dark, When I lie awake and hark, G.o.d sees.
Need I ever know a fear?
Night and day my Father's near:-- G.o.d sees.
Mary Mapes Dodge.
FOOTNOTE:
[A] _From "Rhymes and Jingles," by Mary Mapes Dodge. By permission of Charles Scribner's Sons._
_High and Low_[A]
The showers fall as softly Upon the lowly gra.s.s As on the stately roses That tremble as they pa.s.s.
The sunlight s.h.i.+nes as brightly On fern-leaves bent and torn As on the golden harvest, The fields of waving corn.
The wild birds sing as sweetly To rugged, jagged pines, As to the blossomed orchards, And to the cultured vines.
Dora Read Goodale.
_By Cool Siloam's Shady Rill_
By cool Siloam's shady rill How sweet the lily grows!
How sweet the breath beneath the hill Of Sharon's dewy rose!
Lo, such the child whose early feet The paths of peace have trod; Whose secret heart, with influence sweet, Is upward drawn to G.o.d.
Reginald Heber.
FOOTNOTE:
[A] _From "Apple Blossoms," by Dora Read Goodale. By permission of G. P.
Putnam's Sons._
_Sheep and Lambs_
All in the April morning, April airs were abroad; The sheep with their little lambs Pa.s.s'd me by on the road.
The sheep with their little lambs Pa.s.s'd me by on the road; All in an April evening I thought on the Lamb of G.o.d.
The lambs were weary, and crying With a weak human cry, I thought on the Lamb of G.o.d Going meekly to die.
Up in the blue, blue mountains Dewy pastures are sweet: Rest for the little bodies, Rest for the little feet.
All in the April evening, April airs were abroad; I saw the sheep with their lambs, And thought on the Lamb of G.o.d.
Katharine Tynan Hinkson.
