Creation
This is my Father’s world (Maltbie Davenport Babcock)
This is my Father’s world,
And to my listening ears
All nature sings,
and round me rings
The music of the spheres.
This is my Father’s world:
I rest me in the thought
Of rocks and trees,
of skies and seas–
His hand the wonders wrought.
This is my Father’s world:
The birds their carols raise,
The morning light,
the lily white,
Declare their Maker’s praise.
This is my Father’s world:
He shines in all that’s fair;
In the rustling grass
I hear Him pass,
He speaks to me everywhere.
This is my Father’s world:
O let me ne’er forget
That though the wrong
seems oft so strong,
God is the Ruler yet.
This is my Father’s world:
Why should my heart be sad?
The Lord is King:
let the heavens ring! God reigns; let earth be glad!
If a jackal bothers you
If a jackal bothers you, show him a hyena,
If a hyena bothers you, show him an elephant,
If an elephant bothers you, show him a hunter,
If a hunter bothers you, show him a snake,
If a snake bothers you, show him a stick,
If a stick bothers you, show him a fire,
If a fire bothers you, show him a river,
If a river bothers you, show him a wind,
If a wind bothers you, show him God.
All Things Bright and Beautiful (Cecil F. Alexander)
- All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful:
The Lord God made them all. - Each little flow’r that opens,
Each little bird that sings,
He made their glowing colors,
He made their tiny wings. - The purple-headed mountains,
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 every one. - The tall trees in the greenwood,
The meadows where we play,
The rushes by the water,
To gather every day. - He gave us eyes to see them,
And lips that we might tell
How great is God Almighty,
Who has made all things well.
Morning Has Broken (Eleanor Farjeon)
Morning has broken like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken like the first bird
Praise for the singing
Praise for the morning
Praise for them springing fresh from the worldSweet the rain’s new fall, sunlit from heaven
Like the first dew fall on the first grass
Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden
Sprung in completeness where his feet passMine is the sunlight
Mine is the morning
Born of the one light Eden saw play
Praise with elation, praise every morning
God’s recreation of the new dayMorning has broken like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken like the first bird
Praise for the singing
Praise for the morning
Praise for them springing fresh from the world
Time
Calendar (Sara Coleridge)
January brings the snow,
Makes our feet and fingers glow.
February brings the rain,
Thaws the frozen lake again.
March brings breezes, loud and shrill,
To stir the dancing daffodil.
April brings the primrose sweet,
Scatters daisies at our feet.
May brings flocks of pretty lambs
Skipping by their fleecy dams.
June brings tulips, lilies, roses,
Fills the children’s hands with posies.
Hot July brings cooling showers,
Apricots, and gillyflowers.
August brings the sheaves of corn,
Then the harvest home is borne.
Warm September brings the fruit;
Sportsmen then begin to shoot.
Fresh October brings the pheasant;
Then to gather nuts is pleasant.
Dull November brings the blast;
Then the leaves are whirling fast.
Chill December brings the sleet,
Blazing fire, and Christmas treat
Through the Year (Flora Willis Watson)
January falls the snow,
February cold winds blow,
In March peep out the early flowers,
And April comes with sunny showers.
In May the roses bloom so gay,
In June the farmer mows his hay,
In July brightly shines the sun,
In August harvest is begun.
September turns the green leaves brown,
October winds then shake them down,
November fills with bleak and smear,
December comes and ends the year.
60 Seconds Make a Minute (Dorothy Harrer)
“60 seconds makes a minute,
Put a lot of kindness in it.
60 minutes makes an hour,
Work with all your might and power.
12 bright hours make a day,
Time enough for work and play.
12 dark hours through the night,
Give us sleep till morning light.”
30 Days hath September
Thirty days hath September,
April, June, and November;
All the rest have thirty-one,
Excepting February alone,
And that has twenty-eight days clear
And twenty-nine in each leap year.
Measurement
One Inch Tall (Shel Silverstein)
If you were only one inch tall,
you’d ride a worm to school.
The teardrop of a crying ant
would be your swimming pool.
A crumb of cake would be a feast
And last you seven days at least,
A flea would be a frightening beast
If you were one inch tall.
If you were only one inch tall,
you’d walk beneath the door,
And it would take about a month
to get down to the store.
A bit of fluff would be your bed,
You’d swing upon a spider’s thread,
And wear a thimble on your head
If you were one inch tall.
You’d surf across the kitchen sink
upon a stick of gum.
You couldn’t hug your mama,
you’d just have to hug her thumb.
You’d run from people’s feet in fright,
To move a pen would take all night,
(This poem took fourteen years to write–
‘Cause I’m just one inch tall).
Occupations
The Village Blacksmith (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)
Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate’er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
(there are more stanzas, but for my class 3 children, I chose to end the poem here)
Logs to Burn (Honor Goodheart)
Logs to Burn, Logs to burn,
Logs to save the coal a turn.
Here’s a word to make you wise,
When you hear the woodman’s cries.
Never heed his usual tale,
That he has good logs for sale,
But read these lines and really learn,
The proper kind of logs to burn.
Oak logs will warm you well,
If they’re old and dry.
Larch logs of pine will smell,
But the sparks will fly.
Beech logs for Christmas time,
Yew logs heat well.
“Scotch” logs it is a crime,
For anyone to sell.
Birch logs will burn too fast,
Chestnut scarce at all.
Hawthorn logs are good to last,
If you cut them in the fall.
Holly logs will burn like wax,
You should burn them green,
Elm logs like smouldering flax,
No flame to be seen.
Pear logs and apple logs,
They will scent your room,
Cherry logs across the dogs,
Smell like flowers in bloom
But ash logs, all smooth and grey,
Burn them green or old;
Buy up all that come your way,
They’re worth their weight in gold.
Serene's Healing Stories for Children 
Leave a comment