"Build me a house," my little laddie said
(Oh! how resist the pleading of those eyes?),
"a big, tall house, with chair and little bed.
Please, mummie, do, a house of 'normous size."
And so I sat beside him on the floor and built a house with his gay-coloured blocks.
Of cardboard were the windows and the door, and pins were used for handles and for locks.
My little son then clapped his hands with glee, and round my neck his eager arms he flung.
"Oh! what a lovely house you've built for me!" His praise was like a song that's sweetly sung.
But when I tucked him up in bed that night,
caressed his curls, and kissed his fragrant face,
a shadow fell upon my day's delight -
and in my heart that shadow found a place.
How can I build for you, my little son;
how can I build for you the House of Life;
when once your childhood days are o'er and done,
how can I build against the storm and strife?
The strong foundation, yes, so much I can -
but you must build Life's House from your own plan.
Poet: John McLeod
Awakening, dawn's chorus
the day new, untouched
Waiting to be filled. . .
And will we paint a rainbow
With all its promise
Or dull the canvas
Each day brings its own colours
To be chosen, mixed,
Pigments of joy,
Smiles and laughter. . .
And which will you choose?
For 'Life' is choice,
We are all painters
In our own way,
All needing to create
Something of worth,
Of lasting beauty,
Marking our journey. . .
Footprints in the sand. . .
The sky today is azure,
The sun warm and golden
A filigree of light and shadow-play
Through the gently swaying trees.
I clean my brushes,
Choose my palette
Of vibrant, living colours,
And begin to fill today's blank canvas
Sweet memories enhance
The backwards glance
Long into childhood's way,
Hours by the sea
Where the sun brightly shone
Looking out o'er the waves
Soft, memory saves
A joy that forever stays
Held deep in that part
Of one's innermost heart..
Of so happy,
dear sand-castle days!
"Now" and "Waitawhile"
Poet: Nixon Waterman
Little Jimmie "Waitawhile" and little Johnnie "Now"
Grew up in homes just side by side; and that, you see, is how
I came to know them both so well, for almost every day
I used to watch them in their work and also in their play.
Little Jimmie "Waitawhile" was bright and steady, too,
But never ready to perform what he was asked to do;
"Wait just a minute," he would say, "I'll do it pretty soon,"
And tasks he should have done at morn were never done at noon.
He put off studying until his boyhood days were gone;
He put off getting him a home till age came stealing on;
He put off everything, and so his life was not a joy,
And all because he waited "just a minute" when a boy.
But little Johnnie "Now" would say, when he had work to do,
"There's no time like the present time," and gaily put it through.
And when his time for play arrived he so enjoyed the fun!
His mind was not distressed with thoughts of duties left undone.
In boyhood he was studious and laid him out a plan
Of action to be followed when he grew to be a man;
And life was as he willed it, all because he'd not allow
His tasks to be neglected, but would always do them "now."
And so in every neighborhood are scores of growing boys
Who, by and by, must work with tools when they have done with toys.
And you know one of them, I guess, because I see you smile;
And is he little Johnnie "Now" or Jimmie "Waitawhile"?
Where do the clouds go when the sky is clear?
Where are they located, in what hemisphere?
All their fluffy beauty, their snowy white appeal,
And one day they’ve vanished, I wonder, were they real?
If they have been created, and I rather think they were,
Have they disintegrated, or were they really there?
They can't simply have vanished, so where do they reside?
All I see is clear blue sky, where do these clouds hide?
If God formed them from nothing, and Scripture tells me so,
Are they stored for safe keeping in a place I do not know?
Or are they uncreated, their usefulness has ceased,
Their soft, white beauty vanquished, as if they had deceased?
I ponder o'er their frailty, I wonder, can it be,
Their span of time so fleeting, is it like that for me?
Am I but a mere shadow across the face of time?
Is my worth but a vapour, not thought of as sublime?
Have I put too much value on what I might achieve?
Ignoring God's great blessings in what I should believe?
Can I not see my future won’t always be on earth,
But what I do for Jesus will tally up my worth?
The "bricks" of faith hold value, they will not disappear,
They're held with great importance, they'll last while I am here.
And when my time has vanished, like clouds, I'll be no more,
My earthly mission finished, I'll be on heaven’s shore.
Beyond the clouds in glory that holds their mystery,
My questions will be answered, for then I'll truly see.
Not through a veil of darkness, but in a shining light,
And knowledge will be perfect, there will be no more night.