  My 'Infant Class' one summer morn, Was gathered in the maple shade Near the church door, and there we talked The swaying trees upon the hill, The waving grain, the shadowy grove— Till every little heart seemed filled With the sweet sense of Jesus' love. A query came: Dear little ones, As days go by what shall we do— Since Jesus has so loved us all— To show him that we love him too? "I'll mind mama," said wilful Tim; And Ben, "I'll carry in the wood;" Said Mary, "I will lessons learn;" While Dimple lisped, "I will be dood." And how will Helen show her love? She, with a wistful glance at Rose— A sweet, but pale and timid child— Replied, "By giving up, I 'spose." Dear girl! To fragile sister Rose She oft must yield her will and way; But now this duty shall disclose Her love for Jesus, day by day. Oh oft, were we but wise, we'd find Our triumph in another's gain; On glowing altar—coals of love— Would joy to see self-idols slain. In simplest ways the soul may drink With Christ the sacrificial cup, And many a victory is won, And nobly won, by 'giving up.' |
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