My‘ Infant Class’ one summer morn,
Was gathered in the maple shade
Near the church door, and there we talked
Of the fair world our Lord had made —
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.’