Classic Poem

Ah! child! the stream that brings
To thirsty lips their drink,
Is seldom drain'd; for springs
Pour water to its brink.

The wellsprings that supply
The streams, are seldom spent,
For clouds of rain come by
To pay them what they lent.

The clouds that cast their rain
On lands that yield our food,
Have water from the main,
To make their losses good.

The sea is paid by lands,
With streams from ev'ry shore;
So give with kindly hands,
For God can give you more.

He would that in a ring
His blessings should be sent,
From living thing to thing,
But nowhere staid or spent.

And every soul that takes,
But yields not on again,
Is so a link that breaks
In Heaven's love-made chain.