Labor Is Prayer
LABORARE est orare:
We, black-visaged sons of toil,
From the coal-mine and the anvil
And the delving of the soil,--
From the loom, the wharf, the warehouse,
And the ever-whirling mill,
Out of grim and hungry silence
Raise a weak voice small and shrill;--
Laborare est orare:
Man, dost hear us? God, He will.
We, who just can keep from starving
Sickly wives,--not always mild:
Trying not to curse Heaven's bounty
When it sends another child,--
We who, worn-out, doze on Sundays
O'er the Book we strive to read,
Cannot understand the parson
Or the catechism and creed.
Laborare est orare:--
Then, good sooth, we pray indeed.
We, poor women, feeble-natured,
Large of heart, in wisdom small,
Who the world's incessant battle
Cannot understand at all,
All the mysteries of the churches,
All the troubles of the state,--
Whom child-smiles teach 'God is loving,'
And child-coffins, 'God is great':
Laborare est orare:--
We too at His footstool wait.
Laborare est orare;
Hear it, ye of spirit poor,
Who sit crouching at the threshold
While your brethren force the door;
Ye whose ignorance stands wringing
Rough hands, scamed with toil, nor dares
Lift so much as eyes to Heaven,--
Lo! all life this truth declares,
Laborare est orare;
And the whole earth rings with prayers.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Related quotes
The Loss Of A Child
Dear God we ask,
Take care of our little child,
Someone who means so much to us,
So beautiful, so gentle, so mild.
A battle fought when tiny,
To stay upon this earth,
A child that was very weak,
From the moment of the birth.
Our prayers were sent for healing,
We gave thanks every day,
For the time the child was amongst us,
But alas, still was taken away.
You have taken the one we worshipped,
To your home in heaven above,
I am sure you had your reasons,
For taking someone we love.
My child I know you are hurting,
You feel life is not the same,
You have nothing to reproach yourself,
You were not to blame.
God took back to heaven,
A rare and beautiful flower,
He has planted it in his garden,
Will surround it with all his power.
The spirit of your child,
In heaven will develop and grow,
To be surrounded by those good people,
Will be surrounded by those you know
Although you have lost the material,
The spirit will be strong and true,
The good times you remember,
Your child will be close to you.
poem by Malcolm Bradshaw
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On Hearing The Princess Royal Sing
In thine abode so high
Where yet one scarce can breathe,
Dear child, most tenderly
A soft song thou dost wreathe.
Thou singest, little girl--
Thy sire, the King is he:
Around thee glories whirl,
But all things sigh in thee.
Thy thought may seek not wings
Of speech; dear love's forbidden;
Thy smiles, those heavenly things,
Being faintly born, are chidden.
Thou feel'st, poor little Bride,
A hand unknown and chill
Clasp thine from out the wide
Deep shade so deathly still.
Thy sad heart, wingless, weak,
Is sunk in this black shade
So deep, thy small hands seek,
Vainly, the pulse God made.
Thou art yet but highness, thou
That shaft be majesty:
Though still on thy fair brow
Some faint dawn-flush may be,
Child, unto armies dear,
Even now we mark heaven's light
Dimmed with the fume and fear
And glory of battle-might.
Thy godfather is he,
Earth's Pope,--he hails thee, child!
Passing, armed men you see
Like unarmed women, mild.
As saint all worship thee;
Thyself even hast the strong
Thrill of divinity
Mingled with thy small song.
Each grand old warrior
Guards thee, submissive, proud;
Mute thunders at thy door
Sleep, that shall wake most loud.
Around thee foams the wild
Bright sea, the lot of kings.
Happier wert thou, my child,
I' the woods a bird that sings!
poem by Victor Hugo
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Label of a Child
When I first met him, he was just a small little child,
He was so sweet and innocent, meek, and mild.
His future was shining through his brilliant little eyes,
Unaware of the coming troubles, conflicts and lies.
As he watched me with eyes full of curiosity,
He stayed back alittle, just evaluating me.
He was now labed, as a child of divorce,
He didn't know the term 'divorce' of course.
His dad stood by him with deep passion and love,
The kind of love that comes from heaven above.
No one could touch him, if not through his dad,
It's a story of love, we all wish we had
As time crawled on, he was still unsure,
He watched and waited for love that was pure.
Not the forced love, just because of birth
The type of love that shows a child's worth.
One day, the child dropped his defenses
And asked, Will you be my mom? , in a complete sentence.
I offered my heart, my world, and my life,
to this little boy who was riddled with strife.
As the years passed, a strong family grew,
A 'divorced' family? Nobody knew.
We over came much trouble and strive,
But we have a strong family and a terrific live.
So, when you come into a relationship, where's there a child,
Go slowly and patiently, gently and mild.
Remember, a 'step' is something under your feet,
It should never been used on a child, please be discreet.
The only thing that child should ever hear,
Is, I love you deeply and I need you near.
Don't label that child as step or divorced
That causes deep sadness and total remorse!
Just say I love you to your child every day,
Then the love of that child will never go away.
poem by Donna Kay Patterson
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If I were dead
'IF I were dead, you'd sometimes say, Poor Child!'
The dear lips quiver'd as they spake,
And the tears brake
From eyes which, not to grieve me, brightly smiled.
Poor Child, poor Child!
I seem to hear your laugh, your talk, your song.
It is not true that Love will do no wrong.
Poor Child!
And did you think, when you so cried and smiled,
How I, in lonely nights, should lie awake,
And of those words your full avengers make?
Poor Child, poor Child!
And now, unless it be
That sweet amends thrice told are come to thee,
O God, have Thou no mercy upon me!
Poor Child!
poem by Coventry Patmore
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Heaven Help Us
Heaven help the child who never had a home,
Heaven help the girl who walks the street alone
Heaven help the roses if the bombs begin to fall,
Heaven help us all.
Heaven help the black man if he struggles one more day,
Heaven help the white man if he turns his back away,
Heaven help the man who kicks the man who has to crawl,
Heaven help us all.
Heaven help us all, heaven help us all, help us all.
Heaven help us, Lord, hear our call when we call
Oh, yeah!
Heaven help the boy who won't reach twenty-one,
Heaven help the man who gave that boy a gun.
Heaven help the people with their backs against the wall,
Lord, Heaven help us all.
Heaven help us all, heaven help us all, heaven help us all, help us all.
Heaven help us, Lord, hear our call when we call.
Now I lay me down before I go to sleep.
In a troubled world, I pray the Lord to keep, keep hatred from the mighty,
And the mighty from the small,
Heaven help us all.
Oh, oh, oh, yeah!
Heaven help us all.
song performed by by Bon Jovi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heaven Help Us All
Heaven help the child who never had a home,
Heaven help the girl who walks the street alone
Heaven help the roses if the bombs begin to fall,
Heaven help us all.
Heaven help the black man if he struggles one more day,
Heaven help the white man if he turns his back away,
Heaven help the man who kicks the man who has to crawl,
Heaven help us all.
Heaven help us all, heaven help us all, help us all.
Heaven help us, lord, hear our call when we call
Oh, yeah!
Heaven help the boy who wont reach twenty-one,
Heaven help the man who gave that boy a gun.
Heaven help the people with their backs against the wall,
Lord, heaven help us all.
Heaven help us all, heaven help us all, heaven help us all, help us all.
Heaven help us, lord, hear our call when we call.
Now I lay me down before I go to sleep.
In a troubled world, I pray the lord to keep, keep hatred from the mighty,
And the mighty from the small,
Heaven help us all.
Oh, oh, oh, yeah!
Heaven help us all.
song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heaven Help Us All
There're some people
There're some people
Heaven help the child who never had a home
Heaven help the girl who walks the streets alone (walks the streets alone, yeah)
Heaven help the roses when the bombs begin to fall
Lord heaven help us all
Heaven help the black man if he struggles one more day
Heaven help the white man if he turns his back away (turns his back away, yeah)
Heaven help the man who kicks the man who has to crawl
Lord heaven help us all
Heaven help us all
Help us all
Heaven help us all
Help us all
Heaven help us all
Heaven help us all
Hear our call when we call
Help us all
Heaven help the child who won't reach twenty-one (won't reach twenty-one)
Heaven help the man who gave that child a gun, bang bang
Heaven help the people with their backs against the wall
Lord heaven help us all
Help us all, yeah, alright, alright
Heaven help us all
Help us all
Heaven help us all
Help us all
Heaven help us all
Hear our call when we call
Where I, where I belong
Now I lay me down before I go to sleep
In these troubled days I pray the lord to keep
Keep hatred from the mighty, and the mighty from the small
Heaven help us all
Heaven help us all
Heaven help us all
Heaven help us all
I need somebody
I need somebody
Help us
Heaven help us all
Help us all
song performed by by Wet Wet Wet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pray To God He Understands
Pray, pray when things go wrong
and fears around you
the love you have god will hear in your voice
look up to him
he always near
pray, pray go with your troubles straight to him
pray, pray for god understands
have faith
leaving all in his dear hands.
Pray, pray be calm and still
whatever comes must be his will
his promises like buds unfold
naught that is good will he with hold
pray, pray go with your troubles straight to him
pray, pray for god understands
have faith
leaving all in his dear hands.
Pray, pray till faith grows strong
and in your hart rings heaven's song
the loving god your voice will hear
look up to him he's always near
pray, pray go with your troubles straight to him
pray, pray for god understands
have faith
leaving all in his dear hands.
poem by Djean Whitney
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Child of mine…
To my beautiful child, , ,
Beautiful child, being so small you inspire me big,
Beautiful child, so fragile, you make me so strong,
Beautiful child, so tender your touch your power is great,
Beautiful child, small is your heart, infinite is the love I feel for you;
Beautiful child, your hand I’m anxious to hold, to walk life’s road with you by my side.
Beautiful child, your light will show me the way,
Beautiful child, you came to my life to teach me a lesson that I shall never forget…
Nor riches, nor power can give us the best things of life…
The smile of a child…Is the best of all rewards…
poem by Ale Duncan
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The Hermit of Thebaid
O strong, upwelling prayers of faith,
From inmost founts of life ye start,-
The spirit's pulse, the vital breath
Of soul and heart!
From pastoral toil, from traffic's din,
Alone, in crowds, at home, abroad,
Unheard of man, ye enter in
The ear of God.
Ye brook no forced and measured tasks,
Nor weary rote, nor formal chains;
The simple heart, that freely asks
In love, obtains.
For man the living temple is
The mercy-seat and cherubim,
And all the holy mysteries,
He bears with him.
And most avails the prayer of love,
Which, wordless, shapes itself in needs,
And wearies Heaven for naught above
Our common needs.
Which brings to God's all-perfect will
That trust of His undoubting child
Whereby all seeming good and ill
Are reconciled.
And, seeking not for special signs
Of favor, is content to fall
Within the providence which shines
And rains on all.
Alone, the Thebaid hermit leaned
At noontime o'er the sacred word.
Was it an angel or a fiend
Whose voice be heard?
It broke the desert's hush of awe,
A human utterance, sweet and mild;
And, looking up, the hermit saw
A little child.
A child, with wonder-widened eyes,
O'erawed and troubled by the sight
Of hot, red sands, and brazen skies,
And anchorite.
''What dost thou here, poor man? No shade
Of cool, green palms, nor grass, nor well,
Nor corn, nor vines.' The hermit said
'With God I dwell.
'Alone with Him in this great calm,
I live not by the outward sense;
My Nile his love, my sheltering palm
His providence.'
The child gazed round him. 'Does God live
Here only?-where the desert's rim
Is green with corn, at morn and eve,
We pray to Him.
'My brother tills beside the Nile
His little field; beneath the leaves
My sisters sit and spin, the while
My mother weaves.
'And when the millet's ripe heads fall,
And all the bean-field hangs in pod,
My mother smiles, and, says that all
Are gifts from God.'
Adown the hermit's wasted cheeks
Glistened the flow of human tears;
'Dear Lord!' he said, 'Thy angel speaks,
Thy servant hears.'
Within his arms the child he took,
And thought of home and life with men;
And all his pilgrim feet forsook
Returned again.
The palmy shadows cool and long,
The eyes that smiled through lavish locks,
Home's cradle-hymn and harvest-song,
And bleat of flocks.
'O child!' he said, 'thou teachest me
There is no place where God is not;
That love will make, where'er it be,
A holy spot.'
He rose from off the desert sand,
And, leaning on his staff of thorn,
Went with the young child hand in hand,
Like night with morn.
They crossed the desert's burning line,
And heard the palm-tree's rustling fan,
The Nile-bird's cry, the low of kine,
And voice of man.
Unquestioning, his childish guide
He followed, as the small hand led
To where a woman, gentle-eyed,
Her distaff fed.
She rose, she clasped her truant boy,
She thanked the stranger with her eyes;
The hermit gazed in doubt and joy
And dumb surprise.
And to!-with sudden warmth and light
A tender memory thrilled his frame;
New-born, the world-lost anchorite
A man became.
'O sister of El Zara's race,
Behold me!-had we not one mother?'
She gazed into the stranger's face
'Thou art my brother!'
'And when to share our evening meal,
She calls the stranger at the door,
She says God fills the hands that deal
Food to the poor.'
'O kin of blood! Thy life of use
And patient trust is more than mine;
And wiser than the gray recluse
This child of thine.
'For, taught of him whom God hath sent,
That toil is praise, and love is prayer,
I come, life's cares and pains content
With thee to share.'
Even as his foot the threshold crossed,
The hermit's better life began;
Its holiest saint the Thebaid lost,
And found a man!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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What Is A Slave, Mother
What is a slave, mother?—I heard you say
That word with a sorrowful voice, one day;
And it came again to my thoughts last night,
As I laid awake in the broad moonlight;
Methinks I have heard a story told,
Of some poor men, who are bought and sold,
And driven abroad with stripes to toil,
The live-long day on a stranger's soil;
Is this true mother?
May children as young as I be sold,
And torn away from their mother's hold—
From home—from all they have loved and known,
To dwell in the great wide world alone,
Far, far away in some distant place,
Where they never may see their parents’ face?
Ah! how I should weep to be torn from you!
Tell me, dear mother, can this be true?
Alas, yes, my child.
Does the master love the slave child well,
That he takes away in his house to dwell?
Does he teach him all that he ought to know,
And wipe his tears when they sometimes flow—
And watch beside him in sickness and pain,
Till health comes back to his cheek again—
And kneel each night by his side to pray,
That God will keep him through life's rough way?
Alas, no, my child.
Ah, then must the tales I have heard be true,
Of the cruel things that the masters do;
That the poor slaves often must creep to bed,
On their scatter'd straw, but scantily fed;
Be sometimes loaded with heavy chains;
And flogg'd till their blood the keen lash stains;
While none will care for their bitter cry,
Or soothe their hearts when their grief is high.
It is so, my child.
And is it not, mother, a sinful thing,
The bosoms of others with pain to wring—
To bid them go labour and delve the soil,
And seize the reward of their weary toil—
For men to tear men from their homes away,
And sell them for gold, like a lawful prey!
Oh surely the land where such deeds are done,
Must be a most savage and wicked one!
It is this, my child.
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Ex Ore Infantium
Little Jesus, wast Thou shy
Once, and just so small as I?
And what did it feel like to be
Out of Heaven, and just like me?
Didst Thou sometimes think of THERE,
And ask where all the angels were?
I should think that I would cry
For my house all made of sky;
I would look about the air,
And wonder where my angels were;
And at waking 'twould distress me--
Not an angel there to dress me!
Hadst Thou ever any toys,
Like us little girls and boys?
And didst Thou play in Heaven with all
The angels that were not too tall,
With stars for marbles? Did the things
Play Can you see me? through their wings?
And did Thy Mother let Thee spoil
Thy robes, with playing on OUR soil?
How nice to have them always new
In Heaven, because 'twas quite clean blue!
Didst Thou kneel at night to pray,
And didst Thou join Thy hands, this way?
And did they tire sometimes, being young,
And make the prayer seem very long?
And dost Thou like it best, that we
Should join our hands to pray to Thee?
I used to think, before I knew,
The prayer not said unless we do.
And did Thy Mother at the night
Kiss Thee, and fold the clothes in right?
And didst Thou feel quite good in bed,
Kissed, and sweet, and thy prayers said?
Thou canst not have forgotten all
That it feels like to be small:
And Thou know'st I cannot pray
To Thee in my father's way--
When Thou wast so little, say,
Couldst Thou talk Thy Father's way?--
So, a little Child, come down
And hear a child's tongue like Thy own;
Take me by the hand and walk,
And listen to my baby-talk.
To Thy Father show my prayer
(He will look, Thou art so fair),
And say: 'O Father, I, Thy Son,
Bring the prayer of a little one.'
And He will smile, that children's tongue
Has not changed since Thou wast young!
poem by Francis Thompson
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Eyes Of A Child
Listen hear the sound
The child awakes
Wonder all around
The child awakes
Now in his life he never must be lost
No thoughts must deceive him
In life he must trust
With the eyes of a child
You must come out and see
That your world's spinning 'round
And through life you will be
A small part
Of a hope
Of a love
That exists
In the eyes of a child you will see
Earth falls far away
New life awaits
Time it has no day
New life awwaits
Here is your dream and now how does it feel
No words will go with you
And now what is real?
With the eyes of a child
You must come out and see
That your world's spinning 'round
And through life you will be
A small part
Of a hope
Of a love
That exists
In the eyes of a child you will see
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Stolen God--Lazarus To Dives
We do not clamour for vengeance,
We do not whine for fear;
We have cried in the outer darkness
Where was no man to hear.
We cried to man and he heard not;
Yet we thought God heard us pray;
But our God, who loved and was sorry -
Our God is taken away.
Ours were the stream and the pasture,
Forest and fen were ours;
Ours were the wild wood-creatures,
The wild sweet berries and flowers.
You have taken our heirlooms from us,
And hardly you let us save
Enough of our woods for a cradle,
Enough of our earth for a grave.
You took the wood and the cornland,
Where still we tilled and felled;
You took the mine and quarry,
And all you took you held.
The limbs of our weanling children
You crushed in your mills of power;
And you made our bearing women toil
To the very bearing hour.
You have taken our clean quick longings,
Our joy in lover and wife,
Our hope of the sunset quiet
At the evening end of life;
You have taken the land that bore us,
Its soil and stone and sod;
You have taken our faith in each other -
And now you have taken our God.
When our God came down from Heaven
He came among men, a Man,
Eating and drinking and working
As common people can;
And the common people received Him
While the rich men turned away.
But what have we to do with a God
To whom the rich men pray?
He hangs, a dead God, on your altars,
Who lived a Man among men,
You have taken away our Lord
And we cannot find Him again.
You have not left us a handful
Of even the earth He trod . . .
You have made Him a rich man's idol
Who came as a poor man's God.
He promised the poor His heaven,
He loved and lived with the poor;
He said that the rich man's shadow
Should never darken His door:
But bishops and priests lie softly,
Drink full and are fully fed
In the Name of the Lord, who had not
Where to lay His head.
This is the God you have stolen,
As you steal all else--in His name.
You have taken the ease and the honour,
Left us the toil and the shame.
You have chosen the seat of Dives,
We lie where Lazarus lay;
But, by God, we will not yield you our God,
You shall not take Him away.
All else we had you have taken;
All else, but not this, not this.
The God of Heaven is ours, is ours,
And the poor are His, are His.
Is He ours? Is He yours? Give answer!
For both He cannot be.
And if He is ours--O you rich men,
Then whose, in God's name, are ye?
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Why Art Thou Thus Cast Down, My Heart?
Why art thou thus cast down, my heart?
Why troubled, why dost mourn apart,
O'er nought but earthly wealth?
Trust in thy God, be not afraid,
He is thy Friend who all things made.
Dost think thy prayers He doth not heed?
He knows full well what thou dost need,
And heaven and earth are His;
My Father and my God, who still
Is with my soul in every ill.
Since Thou my God and Father art,
I know Thy faithful loving heart
Will ne'er forget Thy child;
See I am poor, I am but dust,
On earth is none whom I can trust.
The rich man in his wealth confides,
But in my God my trust abides;
Then laugh ye as ye will,
I hold this fast that He hath taught,--
Who trusts in God shall want for nought.
Yes, Lord, Thou art as rich to-day
As Thou hast been and shalt be aye,
I rest on Thee alone;
Thy riches to my soul be given,
And 't is enough for earth and heaven.
What here may shine I all resign,
If the eternal crown be mine,
That through Thy bitter death
Thou gainedst, O Lord Christ, for me--
For this, for this, I cry to Thee!
All wealth, all glories, here below,
The best that this world can bestow,
Silver or gold or lands,
But for a little time is given,
And helps us not to enter heaven.
I thank Thee, Christ, Eternal Lord,
That Thou hast taught me by Thy word
To know this truth and Thee;
O grant me also steadfastness
Thy heavenly kingdom not to miss.
Praise, honour, thanks, to Thee be brought,
For all things in and for me wrought
By Thy great mercy, Christ.
This one thing only still I pray,
Oh cast me ne'er from Thee away
poem by Hans Sachs
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Charity
O why your good deeds with such pride do you scan,
And why that self-satisfied smile
At the shilling you gave to the poor working man,
That lifted you over the stile?
'Tis not much; all the bread that can with it be bought,
Will scarce give a morsel to each
Of his eight hungry children;-reflection and thought
Should you more humility teach.
Vainglory's a worm which the very best action
Will taint, and its soundness eat through;
But to give one's self airs for a small benefaction,
Is folly and vanity too.
The money perhaps by your father or mother
Was furnished you but with that view;
If so, you were only the steward of another,
And the praise you usurp is their due.
Perhaps every shilling you give in this way
Is paid back with two by your friends;
Then the bounty you so ostentatious display,
Has little and low selfish ends.
But if every penny you gave were your own,
And giving diminished your purse;
By a child's slender means think how little is done,
And how little for it you're the worse.
You eat, and you drink; when you rise in the morn,
You are clothed; you have health and content;
And you never have known, from the day you were born,
What hunger or nakedness meant.
The most which your bounty from you can subtract
Is an apple, a sweetmeat, a toy;
For so easy a virtue, so trifling an act,
You are paid with an innocent joy.
Give thy bread to the hungry, the thirsty thy cup;
Divide with the afflicted thy lot:
This can only be practised by persons grown up,
Who've possessions which children have not.
Having two cloaks, give one (said our Lord) to the poor;
In such bounty as that lies the trial:
But a child that gives half of its infantile store
Has small praise, because small self-denial.
poem by Charles Lamb
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Mundane Toil
Life in itself is quite mundane, as each new day is quite the same.
Being in the world’s daily grind, can really weary ones poor mind.
Daily routines do not change, as their frustrations remain the same.
Painful toil throughout the days, wears on your being in many ways.
A far cry from a garden of bliss, that peaceful place man must miss.
All is attributed to Adam’s fall, the ground was cursed, do you recall?
Now thorns and thistles cover earth, as woman has pain in child birth,
And woman’s desire is for her man, as her sin had altered God’s plan.
Man from the sweat of his brow, must work to feed a family somehow.
And all just seems to get worse, and all because of that original curse.
One day there will be no more curse, and no more toil upon this earth.
In a New Heaven and a New Earth, all toil shall become eternal mirth.
As we serve God with joy and bliss, the former earth, we will not miss.
Pain and hurt shall be no more, as we eternally serve The Risen Lord.
And there will flow The Water of Life, from the Throne of Jesus Christ.
On each side of The River of Life, there for all will be The Tree of Life,
To produce fruit throughout the year, for all of the nations, far and near.
The leaves will heal every nation, who has come to Christ for Salvation.
With Christ the center and The Light, Eternity shall have no more night,
With no more darkness or toil friend, it is a blissful eternity with no end.
The Children Of The Lord
From the beginning, it was decreed
That love in itself does not create life.
For love, even in its own form of life,
Has no power to create anything new.
Love is not God, but God is love.
It is He alone who brings forth life.
The human soul is bonded to its body.
From the creation of life, it is eternal.
Even after death, the soul goes on.
It is no light thing for consideration.
We do our part and the Lord does His.
Not all are granted an inheritance.
Even the righteous have no guarantee.
Even the redeemed have no certainty.
But to those who receive a child,
God looks upon the hearts of men and women,
Knowing the future as well as the past.
To Him, no secrets are Hid from His eyes.
Blessed are the ones who find His favour,
Yet do not boast and offend others.
Rejoice in your inheritance from the Lord.
It is your portion, now and for eternity.
Yet know this, love is patient...
A child is a fragile thing and slow to learn.
To teach a child is a great honour.
To love a child is a noble joy.
Be proud only in God's teachings.
They were not given in vain,
Nor without the sacrifice of Christ.
Prepare each child for the journey of life.
For what lies ahead is no easy path.
Money is a small gift compared to time.
Pity the child who has money but little love.
The children of the Lord learn to pray.
May they bring healing to their parents' hearts.
May they honour them and respect them also.
May they help around the happy home.
For what is love but a helping hand?
And what is love without a faithful spirit?
The Lord of Heaven knows us deeply.
His patience and longsuffering seek perfection.
Search yourselves to see the faults within.
Strive not for a better world, but a better you.
For the Lord created children for His glory.
May they sing the holy hymns and praise Him.
Teach them of the Teacher, Jesus, the Son of God...
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The child in our soul
Toward God in heaven spacious
With artless faith a boy looks free,
As toward his mother gracious,
And top of Christmas-tree.
But early in the storm of youth
There wounds him deep the serpent's tooth;
His childhood's faith is doubted
And flouted.
Soon stands in radiant splendor
With bridal wreath his boyhood's dream;
Her loving eyes and tender
The light of heaven's faith stream.
As by his mother's knee of yore
God's name he stammers yet once more,
The rue of tears now paying
And praying.
When now life's conflict stirring
Leads him along through doubtings wild,
Then upward points unerring
Close by his side his child.
With children he a child is still
And whatsoe'er his heart may chill,
Prayer for his son is warming,
Transforming.
The greatest man in wonder
Must ward the child within his breast,
And list 'mid loudest thunder
Its whisperings unrepressed.
Where oft a hero fell with shame,
The child it was restored his name,
His better self revealing,
And healing.
All great things thought created
In child-like joy sprang forth and grew;
All strength with goodness mated,
Obeyed the child's voice true.
When beauty in the soul held sway,
The child gave it in artless play;-
All wisdom worldly-minded
Is blinded.
Hail him, who forward presses
So far that he a home is worth
For there alone possesses
The child-life peace on earth.
Though worn we grieve and hardened grow,
What solace 't is our home to know
With children's laughter ringing
And singing.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In a Child's Voice
Listen to the voice of a child
You will hear the wisdom of the ages
A book ready to be written
Filled with many unwritten pages
Learn from their innocence
Honestly brutal but real
For they haven’t yet been tarnished
telling you exactly how they feel
So simple yet so wise they speak
feelings never compromised
For whatever words they speak to you
You should not be surprised
Listen to the voice of a child
You can always feel their pain
They will always bring you sunshine
When the world is filled with rain
Their laughter is the music
That comes straight from the heart
So learn to sing their praises
Rejoice in every part
Never let that child within
Escape or get away
For every child is a part of us
Each and every day
Listen to the voice of a child
Hear each and every word
For every question asked of you
From sublime to the absurd
There are many lessons to be taught
And dreams to be realized
We learn from each other every day
Yet we always act surprised
If we listen a little bit closer
You will hear that inner child
A lifetime of knowledge
Mostly tame but occasionally wild
In a world that’s constantly changing
You can always find a choice
In the wisdom of our childhood
You will truly find your voice
poem by William Lindenmuth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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