She tried God’s holy Book to heed,
As it before her lay;
But while she sought the words to read,
Her thoughts were far away.
The sun his parting radiance shed,—
Each hour increased her care,
When stranger steps with heavy tread
Came up her narrow stair.
And in their arms her son they bore,
Insensible and pale,
While many a stain of crimson gore
Revealed the hapless tale.
He’d spent the day amid the wood
In happiness and glee,
And, just at eve, triumphant stood
Upon a lofty tree.
The bough, the very topmost bough,
Beneath his weight gave way,
And on the rocks quite senseless now
The wretched sufferer lay.
With mangled flesh, and laboring breath,
And sadly fractured limb,
For many a week he lay till death
A mercy seemed to him.
Yet, ere its bonds the spirit burst,
Deep penitence was given;
And thus, for Jesus’ sake, we trust,
He found a home in heaven.
MY SON, GIVE ME THINE HEART.
Time is flying, dearest children,
Come and give your hearts away;
Come to Jesus! Come to Jesus!
He will teach you how to pray.
Time is flying—do not linger,
Listen to his voice to-day;
Come to Jesus! Come to Jesus!
He will teach you how to pray.