The Children's Hymn For Their Patroness. (From The Villager's Verse-Book.)

On God, whose eyes are over all,
Who shows to all a father's care,
First, with each voice, we children call,
And humbly raise our daily prayer.

And next, to her, who placed us here,
The path of knowledge to pursue,
(Oh! witness all we have - a tear!)
Our heartfelt gratitude is due.

Our parents, when they draw their breath,
In pain, and to the grave descend,
Shall smile upon the bed of death,
To think their children have a friend.

As slow our infant thoughts expand,
And life unfolds its opening road,
We still shall bless the bounteous hand
That kind protection first bestowed.

And still, with fervour we shall pray,
When she to distant scenes shall go;
That God, in blessing, might repay
The blessings which to her we owe!

William Lisle Bowles

William Lisle Bowles was an English cleric, poet, and critic who was born on 24th September 1762 and died on 7th April 1850. He is best known for his sonnets, which were highly praised by the Romantic poets. Bowles's work significantly influenced Samuel Taylor Coleridge and William Wordsworth. Besides his poetry, he wrote extensively on literary criticism and editing. Bowles spent much of his clerical career in Wiltshire and Gloucestershire.

William Lisle Bowles

Approach Of Summer

William Lisle Bowles, Simple Poetry

The Little Sweep. (From The Villager's Verse-Book.)

William Lisle Bowles, Simple Poetry

On Mr Howard's Account Of Lazarettos

William Lisle Bowles, Simple Poetry

Woodspring Abbey, 1836

William Lisle Bowles, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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Two Hymns Written for the Asylum of Female Orphans.

I.

Parent to those, whose infant days
No human parent know;
To thee, O Charity! the praise
Of filial love shall flow.

Base want, and vice, a foe to all!
Round us their snares had thrown.
Had not thy arm, at pity's call,
Embrac'd us for thine own.

O blest the land! where all to Thee
A tender homage pay!
Where indigence and wealth agree
To venerate thy sway!

That land the wrath of Heaven may spare.
When ruthless nations groan;
Her guarded orphan's grateful prayer
May rise to mercy's throne.

Parent to those, whose infant days
No human parent know;
To Thee, O Charity, the praise
Of filial love shall flow.

II.

We have no parent but our God;
Yet will we not in grief despair;
For He thi...

William Hayley

Hymn Of The Children

Thine are all the gifts, O God!
Thine the broken bread;
Let the naked feet be shod,
And the starving fed.

Let Thy children, by Thy grace,
Give as they abound,
Till the poor have breathing-space,
And the lost are found.

Wiser than the miser's hoards
Is the giver's choice;
Sweeter than the song of birds
Is the thankful voice.

Welcome smiles on faces sad
As the flowers of spring;
Let the tender hearts be glad
With the joy they bring.

Happier for their pity's sake
Make their sports and plays,
And from lips of childhood take
Thy perfected praise

John Greenleaf Whittier

The Philanthropic Society.[1] Inscribed To The Duke Of Leeds.

When Want, with wasted mien and haggard eye,
Retires in silence to her cell to die;
When o'er her child she hangs with speechless dread,
Faint and despairing of to-morrow's bread;
Who shall approach to bid the conflict cease,
And to her parting spirit whisper peace!
Who thee, poor infant, that with aspect bland
Dost stretch forth innocent thy helpless hand,
Shall pitying then protect, when thou art thrown
On the world's waste, unfriended and alone!
O hapless Infancy! if aught could move
The hardest heart to pity and to love
'Twere surely found in thee: dim passions mark
Stern manhood's brow, where age impresses dark
The stealing line of sorrow; but thine eye
Wears not distrust, or grief, or perfidy.
Though fortune's storms with dismal shadow lower,
Thy he...

William Lisle Bowles

Thank God For Little Children.

Thank God for little children,
    Bright flowers by earth's wayside,
The dancing, joyous lifeboats
    Upon life's stormy tide.

Thank God for little children;
    When our skies are cold and gray,
They come as sunshine to our hearts,
    And charm our cares away.


I almost think the angels,
    Who tend life's garden fair,
Drop down the sweet wild blossoms
    That bloom around us here.

It seems a breath of heaven
    Round many a cradle lies,
And every little baby
    Brings a message from the skies.

Dear mothers, guard these jewels.
    As sacred offerings meet,
A wealth of household treasures
    To lay at Jesus' feet.

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

Hymn I

O thou, whose presence went before
Our fathers in their weary way,
As with Thy chosen moved of yore
The fire by night, the cloud by day!
When from each temple of the free,
A nation's song ascends to Heaven,
Most Holy Father! unto Thee
May not our humble prayer be given?
Thy children all, though hue and form
Are varied in Thine own good will,
With Thy own holy breathings warm,
And fashioned in Thine image still.
We thank Thee, Father! hill and plain
Around us wave their fruits once more,
And clustered vine, and blossomed grain,
Are bending round each cottage door.
And peace is here; and hope and love
Are round us as a mantle thrown,
And unto Thee, supreme above,
The knee of prayer is bowed alone.
But oh, for those this day can bring,
As...

John Greenleaf Whittier

The Universal Prayer.

("Ma fille, va prier!")

[XXXVII., June, 1830.]


I.

Come, child, to prayer; the busy day is done,
A golden star gleams through the dusk of night;
The hills are trembling in the rising mist,
The rumbling wain looms dim upon the sight;
All things wend home to rest; the roadside trees
Shake off their dust, stirred by the evening breeze.

The sparkling stars gush forth in sudden blaze,
As twilight open flings the doors of night;
The fringe of carmine narrows in the west,
The rippling waves are tipped with silver light;
The bush, the path - all blend in one dull gray;
The doubtful traveller gropes his anxious way.

Oh, day! with toil, with wrong, with hatred rife;
Oh, blessed night! with sober calmness sweet,
The sad wind...

Victor-Marie Hugo