IN TROUBLE.
In terrible trouble is baby:
Full loudly he screams and he cries;
His breakfast is lost, and replace it
He cannot,—however he tries.
The cup of warm milk all so tempting,
Stood safe but a moment ago;
In his haste he leant over to grasp it,
But instead threw it all down below.
At once he burst forth into weeping,
And heart-rending shrieks loud and shrill;
He saw not a kind hand was near him
The empty cup soon to refill.
Dear baby! too often we elders,
Like you, break our hearts without need,
And see not the Hand that provides us
Our food in sweet harvests and seed.
If a check ever lessens our plenty,
And wasted our crops ever lie,
Then, forgetful of all our past blessings,
How hastily rises our cry!
Ah! dry we our blinding tears, baby,
Look up to our Father above,
And patiently wait till he fills us
Our cups in His mercy and love.
