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Hurt no living thing
Ladybird nor butterfly,
Nor moth with dusty wing,
Nor cricket chirping cheerily,
Nor grasshopper, so light of leap,
Nor dancing gnat,
Nor beetle fat,
Nor harmless worms that creep
-Christina Rossetti
Father, we thank thee for the night
And for the pleasant morning light,
For rest and food and loving care,
And all that makes the world so fair.
Help us to do the thing we should.
To be to others kind and good,
In all we do and all we say,
To grow more loving every day.
-Author Unknown
How sweet is the shepherd's sweet lot!
From the morn to the evening he strays;
He shall follow his sheep all the day,
And his tongue shall be filled with praise.
For he hears the lamb's innocent call,
And he hears the ewe's tender reply;
He is watchful while they are in peace,
For they know when their shepherd is nigh.
-William Blake
Dear Saint Brigid of The Kine
Bless these little fields of mine,
The pastures and the shady trees,
Bless the butter and the cheese,
Bless the cows with coats of silk
And the brimming pails of milk.
Bless the hedgerows, and I pray
Bless the seeds beneath the clay,
Bless the hay and bless the grass,
Bless the seasons as they pass,
And heaven's blessings will prevail,
Brigid-Mary of the Gael.
-John Irvine
The world is so full of a number of things
I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings.
-Author Unknown
Little children, never give
Pain to things that feel and live.
Let the gentle robin come
For the crumbs you save at home.
As his meat you throw along
He'll repay you with a song.
Never hurt the timid hare
Peeping from her green grass lair.
Let her come and sport and play
On the lawn at close of day.
The little lark goes soaring high
To the bright windows of the sky,
Singing as if 'twere always spring
And fluttering on an untired wing-
Oh! Let him sing his happy song,
Nor do these gentle creatures wrong.
-Author Unknown
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree;
A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God each day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can Make a tree.
-Joyce Kilmer
I see the moon and the moon sees me,
God bless the moon and God bless me.
-Author Unknown
All Things Bright and Beautiful
All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.
Each little flower that opens,
Each little bird that sings,
He made their glowing colours,
He made their tiny wings.
The purple-headed mountain,
The river running by,
The sunset, and the morning,
That brightens up the sky;
The cold wind in the winter
The pleasant summer sun,
The ripe fruits in the garden
He made them everyone.
He gave us eyes to see them,
And lips that we might tell,
How great is God Almighty,
Who has made all things well.
-Cecil Francis Alexander
He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast,
He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.
-Samuel Taylor Coleridge
I see his blood upon the rose,
And in the stars the glory of his eyes;
His body gleams amid eternal snows,
His tears fall from the skies.
I see his face in every flower;
The thunder and the singing of the birds
Are but his voice; and, carven by his power,
Rocks are his written words.
All pathways by his feet are worn;
His strong heart stirs the ever-beaten sea;
His crown of thorns is twined with every thorn,
His cross is every tree.
- Joseph Mary Plunkett.
Matthew, Mark, Luke and John,
Bless this bed that I lie on.
Before I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
Four corners to my bed,
Four angels there are spread;
Two at the foot, two at the head:
Four to carry me when I'm dead.
I go by sea, I go by land:
The Lord made me with his right hand.
Should any danger come to me,
Sweet Jesus Christ deliver me.
He's my branch and I'm the flower,
Pray God send me a happy hour;
And should I die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.
-Author Unknown
All in the April evening,
April airs were abroad;
The sheep with their little lambs
Passed me by on the road.
The sheep with their little lambs
Passed me by on the road;
All in the April evening
I thought on the Lamb of God.
The lambs were weary and crying
With a weak, human cry.
I thought on the Lamb of God
Going meekly to die.
Up in the blue, blue mountains
Dewy pastures are sweet;
Rest for the little bodies,
Rest for the little feet.
But for the Lamb of God,
Up on the hill-top green,
Only a cross of shame
Two stark crosses between.
All in the April evening,
April airs were abroad,
I saw the sheep with their lambs,
And thought on the Lamb of God.
-Katherine Tynan
