The children, Lord, the children! -- Not for ourselves we pray, But for these little ones, whose feet Are tender to the way. For we have learned our lessons Of Love, and Hope, and Trust; But they have still to learn them, 'Mid the turmoil and the dust. Thy hand was always stretched, Lord, To lift us when we fell; We leave them to thy Father-love That doeth all things well. When the wind and the rain beat on them, O hap them in Thy breast, When their feet grow worn with ways forlorn Lift them up and give them rest. High on Thy breast, Lord, bear them, Above the flints and mire. The way is long, the wind is strong, But Love's arms never tire. We have no wealth to leave them, They must tread the paths we trod; But all is well if but they dwell In the Fatherhood of God. And whatever else they learn, Lord, May they learn this first of all, -- That the great heart of their Father Will answer every call. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DITTY IN IMITATION OF THE SPANISH: ENTRE TANTO QUE L'AVRIL by EDWARD HERBERT STRANGE MEETINGS: 10 by HAROLD MONRO THE GREENWOOD SHRIFT; GEORGE III AND A DYING WOMAN IN WINDSOR FOREST by ROBERT SOUTHEY EPIGRAM: 27. THE FRUIT by THOMAS WYATT |