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.
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.
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.
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 given
In its unsullied innocence,
All meekly up to Heaven.
It is in youth, when given
In 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.
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.
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.
So richly, fully shed,
On these bright spirits' joyous youth,
Through life its influence spread.