Girl on Her Way to Church by George Hitchcock (1850 – 1913)
Here’s a word for Marjory dear:
Summer days will soon be here;
School ‘ll be left to memories dread
Joyous times’ll then appear.
When you’re through with Sunday’s preaching
And your teacher has done with teaching,
Let the care come out a screetching,
Make it hum till here you’re reaching.
First we’ll start right in to talk,
Then we’ll take a pleasant walk,
Keep it up till ladies balk,
Act as mad as any hawk.
You must plan to stay till night:
That’s the time that skeeters bite,
Cat’s come out and start to fight,
Give the girls an awful fright.
Cats will come a catawauling,
Start the babies all a squalling:
Bugs and worms will come a crawling;
Girls and boys will then be bawling.
Then the night air you’ll be feeling,
Hear the pigies all a squeling:
You’ll be someraults a keeling
Till little head and heels are reeling.
Won’t we have alot of fun.
Get all blackened in the sun,
Scare the cows and make them run.
All get sick, every one.
Won’t we have a lot of funning,
For the day with us is doneing?
Eyes pop out and start to running,
Heads jump off and start to spunning.
Girls like you to Christ are dear,
He would have you ever near.
You should Sunday school attend,
And from church too, never wend.
You should give to Christ your heart,
Of His church become a part.
You should ask Him to take you,
Keep you His your journey through.
You should come to Him in prayer
Let Him meet you often there.
You His word should daily read,
And to what it says give heed.
You should do for Him some work
Never let yourself this shirk.
You should love Him more and more
Till your earthly life is o’ver.
I’ve not forgotten Rosemary,
Nor lost her pleasant smile
She was a little fairy,
And did my heart beguile.
I send my love to Rosemary,
The little southern maid:
Sweet words take wings and carry,
Nor let your message fade.
Tell her the love of Jesus
Can human hearts adorn;
From ugliness it frees us,
When in our bosoms worn.
Tell her the love of Jesus
Is free from all alloy:
That it from sorrow frees us;
Is freighted rich with joy.
(Written for a family who had just lost their baby.)
And have you come and gone so soon?
And have you left us desolate?
We dreamed your life you’d share with us,
But such was not to be your fate.
We will not say that all was vain,
That we have hoped and loved for nought:
Perhaps we do not understand,
Perhaps God’s hand through you has wrought.
Some live for years and some for days,
But all at last will pass away.
Who knows what mansions are above?
And whom God needs in heaven’s day?
Our little one we bid adieu:
Our hearts with heaven now have a tie:
We’ll think of you close to our God,
We’ll plan to meet you by and by.
Public Domain Image above retrieved from: