Poems (Louisa Blake)/The Sunday School

​
THE SUNDAY SCHOOL.
Sure 'tis a sacred place, for there The guiltless spirit bends,By pure lips breathed, the holy prayer From holy hearts ascends.
Ay, holy! for the darksome blight Of sin or of distress,Hath not o'ershadow'd the pure light Of those hearts' spotlessness.
'Tis sweet to turn from earth's sad strife Such blissful sight to see,Young beings their bright morn of life Devoting, Lord, to thee.
Oh! if there is a joy intense, It is in youth, when givenIn its unsullied innocence, All meekly up to Heaven.
​
And though around their future lot Thick clouds and storms combine,One star's soft light, one sunny spot, Shall through the darkness shine.
And should temptation's splendors lure, They 'll think of childhood's days,Its bliss serene, its pleasures pure And steadfast turn away.
Thus shall the sacred light of truth So richly, fully shed,On these bright spirits' joyous youth, Through life its influence spread.
This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.