| TEACH me, Father, how to go | |
| Softly as the grasses grow; | |
| Hush my soul to meet the shock | |
| Of the wild world as a rock; | |
| But my spirit, propt with power, | 5 |
| Make as simple as a flower. | |
| Let the dry heart fill its cup, | |
| Like a poppy looking up; | |
| Let life lightly wear her crown | |
| Like a poppy looking down, | 10 |
| When its heart is filled with dew, | |
| And its life begins anew. | |
| |
| Teach me, Father, how to be | |
| Kind and patient as a tree. | |
| Joyfully the crickets croon | 15 |
| Under the shady oak at noon; | |
| Beetle, on his mission bent, | |
| Tarries in that cooling tent. | |
| Let me, also, cheer a spot, | |
| Hidden field or garden grot— | 20 |
| Place where passing souls can rest | |
| On the way and be their best. |
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