In Any House

by Amy Carmichael

Said one whose yoke
Was that of common folk,
Would that I were like Saint Caecilia,
And could invent some goodly instrument
Passing all yet contrived to worship Thee,
And send a love-song singing over land and sea.

But when I seem
Almost to touch my dream,
I hear a call, persistent though small,
The which if I ignore, clamours about my door
And bids me run to meet some human need.
Meanwhile my dream drifts off like down of thistle seed.
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A sound of gentle stillness stirred and said,
My child, be comforted,
Dear is the offering of melody,
But dearer far, love's lowliest ministry.

THY JOHN

by Amy Carmichael

As John upon his dear Lord's breast,
So would I lean, so would I rest;
As empty shell in depths of sea,
So would I sink, be filled with Thee.

As water-lily in her pool
Through long, hot hours is still and cool,
A thought of peace, so I would be
Thy water-flower, Lord, close by Thee.

As singing bird in high, blue air,
So would I soar, and sing Thee there;
Nor rain, nor stormy wind can be
When all the air is full of Thee.

And so though daily duties crowd,
And dust of earth be like a cloud,
Through noise of words, O Lord, my Rest,
Thy John would lean upon Thy breast.

FOR OUR CHILDREN

by Amy Carmichael

FATHER, hear us, we are praying,
Hear the words our hearts are saying,
We are praying for our children.

Keep them from the powers of evil,
From the secret, hidden peril,
From the whirlpool that would suck them,
From the treacherous quicksand, pluck them.

From the worldling's hollow gladness,
From the sting of faithless sadness,
Holy Father, save our children.

Through life's troubled water steer them,
Through life's bitter battle cheer them,
Father, Father, be Thou near them.
Read the language of our longing,
Read the wordless pleadings thronging,
Holy Father, for our children.

And wherever they may bide,
Lead them Home at eventide.