The Child’s Monitor
THE wind blows down the largest tree,
by Ann Taylor
And yet the wind I cannot see!
Playmates far off, who have been kind,
My thought can bring before my mind;
The past by it is present brought,
And yet I cannot see my thought;
The charming rose scents all the air,
Yet I can see no perfume there.
Blithe Robin's notes how sweet, how clear!
From his small bill they reach my ear,
And whilst upon the air they float,
I hear, yet cannot see a note.
When I would do what is forbid,
By something in my heart I'm chid;
When good, I think, then quick and pat,
That something says, 'My child, do that:'
When I too near the stream would go,
So pleased to see the waters flow,
That something says, without a sound,
'Take care, dear child, you may be drown'd: '
And for the poor whene'er I grieve,
That something says, 'A penny give.'
Thus something very near must be,
Although invisible to me;
Whate'er I do, it sees me still:
O then, good Spirit, guide my will.