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.

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