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Trust Poems

Table of Contents

  1. The Credulous Child by Anonymous
  2. A modest lot, a fame petite by Emily Dickinson
  3. The Pilot Lost by Hannah Flagg Gould
  4. God's Will is Best by Caroline H. Mason
  5. Trust Lessons by William Henry Dawson
  6. New-Mown Hay by Margaret Elizabeth Sangster

  1. The Credulous Child

    by Anonymous

    The older ones that know me best,
    And hear and weigh and see,
    Finding I somewhat bear the test,
    Somewhat believe in me.

    But oh, dear loyal little heart
    Though others hold aloof
    How sure of me thou always art
    Without a single proof!

    And now no reason's cool control
    So wins me to be true
    As this unthinking little soul
    That trusts me through and through.

  2. A modest lot, a fame petite

    by Emily Dickinson

    A modest lot, a fame petite,
    A brief campaign of sting and sweet
    Is plenty! Is enough!
    A sailor's business is the shore,
    A soldier's — balls. Who asketh more
    Must seek the neighboring life!

  3. The Pilot Lost

    by Hannah Flagg Gould

    Mariners! mariners, what will ye do?
    The distant, fathomless deep ye've crossed.
    Your rock-bound coast has risen to view;
    And what will ye do? for your Pilot's lost.

    He, who had hastened through surge and foam,
    And reef and shallow so freely passed,
    To bring your ship with a welcome home,
    Your faithful Pilot is gone at last!

    His trusty boat has her trust betrayed!
    Her master has done with the sail and oar.
    And he, low under the waves is laid,
    Who guided his thousands safe to shore.

    He took his life in his friendly hand,
    When venturing forth your lives to save.
    To bring you again to your native land,
    He hurried himself to a watery grave.

    On earth's broad bosom no verdant turf
    Was marked for him in his final rest.
    The deep green sea and her curling surf
    Have pillowed his head and wrapped his breast!

    The waves o'er which he would lightly skim,
    When many a peril for you was run,
    Are sounding a requiem over him,
    And wailing the sorrowful deed they've done.

    With the heart of a brother, an eagle's eye,
    And a pilot's hand, when the heavens are dark,
    And blast and billow are strong and high,
    Who will now come to your wildered bark?

    O, there is One, who the deep can smooth,
    And hush the winds, who will still be nigh!
    Listen! your trembling hearts he'll soothe,
    With 'Mariners, be of good cheer—'t is I.'

    Trust him while crossing life's stormy sea.
    In every peril he'll lend you aid.
    Your pilot through Jordan's waves he'll be.
    Follow him closely and be not afraid!

  4. God's Will is Best

    by Caroline H. Mason

    Whichever way the wind doth blow,
    Some heart is glad to have it so;
    Then blow it east, or blow it west,
    The wind that blows, that wind is best.
    My little craft sails not alone,—
    A thousand fleets, from every zone,
    Are out upon a thousand seas,
    And what for me were favoring breeze
    Might dash another with the shock
    Of doom upon some hidden rock.

    I leave it to a higher Will
    To stay or speed me, trusting still
    That all is well, and sure that He
    Who launched my bark will sail with me
    Through storm and calm, and will not fail,
    Whatever breezes may prevail,
    To land me, every peril past,
    Within His Haven at the last.
    Then blow it east, or blow it west,
    The wind that blows, that wind is best.

  5. Trust Lessons

    by William Henry Dawson

    Just a tiny, little bird flew down upon the ground,
    And with seeming satisfaction swallowed what he found;
    Then flew back to the branches of a nearby apple tree,
    Seemingly as happy as a little bird could be.
    Not a trace of worry could I see upon his face,
    Though I knew that he knew not either the time or place:
    When or where he'd gather crumbs for his next little meal.
    Then I thought I'd give the world if I could only feel
    Such simple and abiding trust in my own Father's care,
    As little birds are teaching to men everywhere.
    Just a tiny rabbit from his fur-lined burrow crept—
    Where through the hours of sunshine he had securely slept—
    To nibble leaves from clover, and his thirst to slake,
    Then back into his burrow another nap to take.
    Not a sign of worry could be seen in act or look:
    I know that bunny did not learn that trust from any book.
    Then why should I not have that trust in my own Father's care,
    That little rabbits teach to doubting people everywhere?
    A father placed his little child upon an open wall,
    And said, "Now jump, my little man—papa won't let you fall:
    Jump into papa's arms my boy—I'll surely catch you dear
    The child leaped to his father's arms, without a sign of fear.
    Why is it when my Father calls to me, I hesitate,
    And doubt, and wait, and falter, and talk of unkind fate,
    And pray to be excused from all unpleasant work?
    Such conduct in a child of mine would brand him as a shirk.
    I cannot understand why I don't trust my Father's care,
    With that sweet trust that's being taught by children everywhere.

  6. New-Mown Hay

    And dear to the soul is the calm content
    Of hours in grateful trusting spent.

    – Margaret E. Sangster
    New-Mown Hay
    by Margaret E. Sangster

    Sweet, oh sweet, from the fields to-day
    Wafts the breath of the new-mown hay.

    Sewing away in a happy dream,
    I sit in the porch with my long white seam.

    The very silence is like a tune,
    Sung to the golden afternoon.

    While the house is still, and the meadows lie
    Fast asleep 'neath the radiant sky.

    Only at intervals, now and then,
    I hear the farmer call to his men.

    And the farmer's voice is dear to me
    As ever a mortal voice can be.

    You may talk of the love of youth and maid,
    Of two in childhood, perhaps, who played

    Together by rill and fount and tree,
    Till their hearts had grown one heart to be;

    You may tell of the loyal faith and life
    Of the husband dear and the gentle wife;

    But the widowed mother leans closest on
    The tender strength of her only son.

    Ah! what if that farmer of mine one day
    Should seek him a bride, as well he may,

    And bring her home! Would I be loath,
    Mother and friend, to live for both?

    For somehow the scent of the new-mown hay
    Carries me back to a far-off day,

    When my silver hair was in waves of brown,
    When my bashful glances kept looking down,

    And swift to my cheek, in a sudden red,
    Mounted the blush, at a soft word said.

    Truly the days of my youth were sweet,
    Ere the path was rough to my toiling feet.

    Truly the morning of life was blest,
    And yet in sooth is the evening best;

    For I've learned the lesson that joys must fly,
    And the proudest hopes, like flowers, die.

    But God abides in his heaven, and he
    Will never forget to care for me.

    Sweet, oh sweet, is the new-mown hay,
    Wafting its breath from the fields to-day.

    Sweet is the golden afternoon,
    With its silence rhythmic as a tune,

    And dear to the soul is the calm content
    Of hours in grateful trusting spent.