God Loves Us.

"How beautiful it is, mamma,
    That God should love us all;
That He should listen to their prayer,
    When little children call!

"What shall I do for him, mamma?
    For He's so kind to me,--
How shall I show my love to Him
    Who made bird, flower and tree?"

"The only thing which you can do
    Is this, my darling child,
Be always gentle, full of love,
    In words and actions mild.

"Thus you will show your love to God
    Who is so kind to you;
And you will live with Him at last
    In His bright heaven, too."

H. P. Nichols

No biography available

H. P. Nichols

The Child Who Would Not Be Washed

H. P. Nichols, Simple Poetry

What The Birds Say.

H. P. Nichols, Simple Poetry

The Bee.

H. P. Nichols, Simple Poetry

Evening Hymn.

H. P. Nichols, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The First Hymn.

God made the bright, round sun;
    He made the pretty flowers;
The little birds, the trees, the clouds
    The rain that falls in showers.

He made papa, mamma,
    And baby brother, too;
And mother says He looks from Heaven,
    And sees each thing I do.

Then I must try to be
    Pleasant, and sweet, and mild;
For the good God who made me loves
    A kind, obedient child.

H. P. Nichols

God Sees Me Always.

God sees me always. When I sleep,
    He kindly watches near;
He loves the little child to keep,
    Who tries to please Him here.

When I'm alone He sees me too,
    Though no one else is by;
And every naughty thing I do,
    He sees it from on high.

He sees me, too, when I am rude,
    And cry, and fret, and tease;
He loves to see me when I'm good
    And try mamma to please.

Then, since He sees me day and night,
    And is so kind to me,
I must do always what is right,
    His gentle child must be.

H. P. Nichols

Samuel.

In Bible times so long ago,
    And in a far-off city, too,
A mother watched her only child
    As he in strength and beauty grew.

And when his little tottering feet
    Had scarcely learned to go alone,--
Before his baby voice could speak
    Her name, with a sweet, joyous tone,--

She took her boy and travelled on,
    Away from home, for many a mile,
That with a good and holy man
    Her darling son might live a while;

That he might learn about the God
    Who made the earth and sea and sky;
And then she left him there and turned
    Back to her home, with many a sigh.

She could not place him on her knee
    And tell him he was very dear;
And so she made a little coat
    And brought it to him every year.

But...

H. P. Nichols

The Child's Question.

"What are the flowers for, mamma,
    That spring up fresh and bright,
And grow on every hill and plain,
    Where'er I turn my sight?

"How do the flowers grow, mamma?
    I've pulled the leaves away,
And tried to see them blossom out,
    On many a summer's day."

"The flowers were made, my little child,
    That when our footsteps trod
Upon the green and pleasant fields,
    We then might think of God.

"We may not see how they do grow,
    And bloom in beauty fair;
We cannot tell how they can spread
    Their small leaves to the air:

"But yet we know that God's kind hand
    Creates these little flowers,
And makes the warm sun shine on them,
    And waters them with showers.

"And so we love to think that He,

H. P. Nichols

Morning Hymn.

Now again the yellow sun
Shines upon my window-pane;
Now anothor day's begun,
I can laugh and play again.

I must try to-day to be
Kind in all I say and do;
Then will God be pleased with me,
And mamma will love me too.

For she says that God above
Loves to see a little child
Sweet and gentle as the dove,
Like the pretty lamb so mild.

H. P. Nichols

The Pleasant World.

I love to see the sun go down
    Behind the western hill;
I love to see the night come on,
    When everything is still.

I love to see the moon and stars
    Shine brightly in the sky;
I love to see the rolling clouds
    Above my head so high.

I love to see the little flowers
    That grow up from the ground;
To hear the wind blow through the trees,
    And make a rustling sound.

I love to see the sheep and lambs
    So happy in their play;
I love to hear the small birds sing
    Sweetly, at close of day.

I love to see them _all_, because
    They are so bright and fair;
And He who made this pleasant world
    Will listen to my prayer.

H. P. Nichols