Classic Poem

O hushed my child be every idle word,
At church we must be ever mute and still;
Great wonders and glad tidings may be heard
Our minds with awe and thankfulness to fill.

Hear of that God who made earth, sea, and skies,
All that we view so excellent and fair,
Who spread the plains and made the mountains rise
And planted every flow'r that blossoms there.

Hear of his only Son, Redeemer blest,
Who left his throne of happiness and love
And sought a world of suffering and unrest
That we might dwell with him in realms above.

His tears were shed that we might weep no more,
His blood was given our sinful souls to save,
A heavy burden for our ease he bore,
And died that we might overcome the grave.

Then while such wondrous tidings may be heard
Try to forget your books, your work, your play:
Seek but to understand God's Holy Word,
And think to whom it is you kneel and pray.