A PRAYER

Teach me ,Father , how to go

Softly as the grasses grow ;

Hush my soul to meet the shock

Of the wild world as a rock ;

But my spirit ,propt with power ,

Make as simple as a flower .

Let the dry heart fill its cup ,

Like  a poppy looking up ;

Let life lightly wear her crown ,

Like a poopy looking down .

Teach me , Father ,how to be

Kind and patient as a tree .

Joyfully the crickets croon

Under shady oak at noon ;

Beetle ,on his mission bent ,

Tarries in that cooling tent .

Let me ,also, cheer a nook,

Place for friendly bread or book –

Place where passing souls can rest

On the way and be their best .

HE LIVED A LIFE

What was his creed ?

I do not know his creed ; I only know

That here below , he walked the common road

And lifted many a load ,lightened the task ,

Brightened the day for others toiling on a weary way :

This ,his only meed ; I do not know his creed

What was his creed ? I never heard him speak

Of visions rapturous ,of Alpine peak

Of doctrine , dogma , new or old :

To stand alone ,to face the challenge of each day ,

And live the truth ,so far as he could see-

The truth that evermore make free .

His creed ? I care not what his creed ;

Enough that never yielded he to greed ,

But served a brother in his daily need ;

Plucked many a thorn and planted many a flower ;

Glorified the service of each hour ;

Had faith in God ,himself , and fellow-men ;

Perchance he never thought in terms of creed ;

I only know he lived a life , in deed !

O God ,Our Help In Ages Pas

O God ,Our Help In Ages Past

O God our help in ages past ,

Our hope in years to come ,

Our shelter from the stormy blast ,

And our enternal home –

Under the shadow of Thy throne

Thy saints have dwelt secure ;

Sufficient is Thine arm alone ,

And our defense is sure ,

Before the hills in order stood ,

Or earth received her frame ,

From everlasting Thou art God ,

To endless years the same .

A thousand ages in Thy sight

Are like an evening gone ;

Short as the watch that ends the night

Before the rising sun .

Time ,like the ever-rolling stream

Bears all its sons away;

They fly ,forgotten ,as a dream

Dies at the opening day .