We are little children,
That go to Sabbath school,
To hear of our Redeemer,
Likewise the golden rule.
II
We will try and do our duty,
To friends and parents dear,
We will try and do our duty,
Their loving hearts to cheer.

CHORUS:
III
We are little children,
That love to go to school,
We love to hear of Jesus,
And learn the golden rule.
IV
We will love our parents,
With all our little hearts;
Yes, we will obey them,
We will not from duty part,
V
For oh, we know they love us,

The holy boy
Went from his mother out in the cool of the day
Over the sun-parched fields
And in among the olives shining green and shining grey.

There was no sound,
No smallest voice of any shivering stream.
Poor sinless little boy,
He desired to play and to sing; he could only sigh and dream.

Suddenly came
Running along to him naked, with curly hair,
That rogue of the lovely world,
That other beautiful child whom the virgin Venus bare.

The holy boy
Gazed with those sad blue eyes that all men know.

A word will fill the little heart
With pleasure and with pride;
It is a harsh, a cruel thing,
That such can be denied.

And yet how many weary hours
Those joyous creatures know;
How much of sorrow and restraint
They to their elders owe!

How much they suffer from our faults!
How much from our mistakes!
How often, too, mistaken zeal
An infant's misery makes!

We overrule and overteach,
We curb and we confine,
And put the heart to school too soon,
To learn our narrow line.

No: only taught by love to love,

Jesus, He loves one and all,
Jesus, He loves children small,
Their souls are waiting round His feet
On high, before His mercy-seat.

While He wandered here below
Children small to Him did go,
At His feet they knelt and prayed,
On their heads His hands He laid.

Came a Spirit on them then,
Better than of mighty men,
A Spirit faithful, pure and mild,
A Spirit fit for king and child.

Oh! that Spirit give to me,
Jesu Lord, where'er I be!


1847.

Cherry-lipped Adonis in his snowy shape,
Might not compare with his pure ivory white,
On whose fair front a poet's pen might write,
Whose rosiate red excels the crimson grape.
His love-enticing delicate soft limbs,
Are rarely framed t' intrap poor gazing eyes;
His cheeks, the lily and carnation dyes,
With lovely tincture which Apollo's dims.
His lips ripe strawberries in nectar wet,
His mouth a hive, his tongue a honeycomb,
Where muses (like bees) make their mansion.
His teeth pure pearl in blushing coral set.

Cherry plum blossom in an old tin jug —
Oh, it is lovely, beautiful and fair,
With sun on it and little shadows mixed
All in among the fragrant wonder there.
Cherry plum blossom on the workroom bench
Where we can see it all our working hours.
In all my garden days of ladyhood,
I never met girls who so loved sweet flowers.

Cherish red, love, for the beautiful season is tinged with red!
Rosy is the glow on laughing Radha's teeth
And scarlet are the bangles on her exquisite hands.
Cherish red, love, for the beautiful season is tinged with red!

Deep red are the flowers that dropp from the kesudo tree,
The dust that blows is rusty and brown,
Red are the beaks of our feathered friends, the parrot and the myna!
Cherish red, love, for the beautiful season is tinged with red!

Red are the garments of all my friends, whose braids have come off,

Change me, O heav'ns, into the ruby stone,
That on my love's fair locks doth hang in gold:
Yet leave me speech, to her to make my moan;
And give me eyes, her beauties to behold.
Or, if you will not make my flesh a stone,
Make her hard heart seem flesh, that now seems none.

I felt and listened and looked around
Everything I loved was safe and sound.

Everything was the same as it was before
and it promised to stay for evermore.

I imagined my life changed and without
the things I loved. There came a doubt...

I felt and listened and all was boring
Everything I loved felt so annoying.

So had changed the things I admired,
the love was gone and it made me tired.

In the mazes of loitering people, the watchful and furtive,
The shadows of tree-trunks and shadows of leaves,
In the drowse of the sunlight, among the low voices,
I suddenly face you,

Your dark eyes return for a space from her who is with you,
They shine into mine with a sunlit desire,
They say an 'I love you, what star do you live on?'
They smile and then darken,

And silent, I answer 'You too-I have known you,-I love you!-'
And the shadows of tree-trunks and shadows of leaves
Interlace with low voices and footsteps and sunlight