“Nay, give no thanks, my good dame,
  To such as me for aid,
Be grateful to your little son,
  And the Lord to whom he prayed!”

Then turning round to Gottlieb,
 “Your written prayer, you see,
Came not to whom it was addressed,
 It only came to me!

“’Twas but a foolish thing you did,
 As you must understand;
For though the gifts are yours, you know,
 You have them from my hand.”

Then Gottlieb answered fearlessly,
 Where he humbly stood apart,
“But the Christ-child sent them all the same,
 He put the thought in your heart!”

OUR HEROES

Here’s a hand to the boy who has courage
 To do what he knows to be right;
When he falls in the way of temptation,
 He has a hard battle to fight. 
Who strives against self and his comrades
 Will find a most powerful foe;
All honor to him if he conquers—­
 A cheer for the boy who says “No!”

There’s many a battle fought daily
 The world knows nothing about;
There’s many a brave little soldier
 Whose strength puts a legion to rout.

And he who fights sin single-handed
  Is more of a hero, I say,
Than he who leads soldiers to battle,
  And conquers by arms in the fray.

Be steadfast, my boy, when you’re tempted
  And do what you know to be right;
Stand firm by the colors of manhood,
  And you will overcome in the fight. 
“The Right” be your battle-cry ever,
  In waging the warfare of life;
And God, who knows who are the heroes,
  Will give you the strength for the strife.

AN APRIL WELCOME

Come up, April, through the valley,
  In your robes of beauty drest,
Come and wake your flowery children
  From their wintry beds of rest;
Come and overblow them softly
  With the sweet breath of the south;
Drop upon them, warm and loving,
  Tenderest kisses of your mouth.

Touch them with your rosy fingers,
  Wake them with your pleasant tread,
Push away the leaf-brown covers,
  Over all their faces spread;

Tell them how the sun is waiting
  Longer daily in the skies,
Looking for the bright uplifting
  Of their softly-fringed eyes.

Call the crow-foot and the crocus,
  Call the pale anemone,
Call the violet and the daisy,
  Clothed with careful modesty;
Seek the low and humble blossoms,
  Of their beauties unaware,
Let the dandelion and fennel,
  Show their shining yellow hair.

Bid the little homely sparrows
  Chirping, in the cold and rain,
Their impatient sweet complaining,
  Sing out from their hearts again;
Bid them set themselves to mating,
  Cooing love in softest words,
Crowd their nests, all cold and empty,
  Full of little callow birds.