God grant me these: the strength to do Some needed service here; The wisdom to be brave and true; The gift of vision clear, That in each task that comes to me Some purpose I may plainly see. God teach me to believe that I Am stationed at a post, Although the humblest 'neath the sky, Where I am needed most. And that, at last, if I do well My humble services will tell. God grant me faith to stand on guard, Uncheered, unspoke, alone, And see behind such duty hard My service to the throne. Whate'er my task, be this my creed: I am on earth to fill a need. Story-Time "Tell us a story," comes the cry From little lips when nights are cold, And in the grate the flames leap high. "Tell us a tale of pirates bold, Or fairies hiding in the glen, Or of a ship that's wrecked at sea." I fill my pipe, and there and then Gather the children round my knee. I give them all a role to play-- No longer are they youngsters small, And I, their daddy, turning gray; We are adventurers, one and all. We journey forth as Robin Hood In search of treasure, or to do Some deed of daring or of good; Our hearts are ever brave and true. We take a solemn oath to be Defenders of the starry flag; We brave the winter's stormy sea, Or climb the rugged mountain crag, To battle to the death with those Who would defame our native land; We pitch our camp among the snows Or on the tropics' burning sand. We rescue maidens, young and fair, Held captive long in prison towers; We slay the villain in his lair, For we're possessed of magic powers. And though we desperately fight, When by our foes are we beset, We always triumph for the right; We have not lost a battle yet. It matters not how far we stray, Nor where our battle lines may be, We never get so far away That we must spend a night at sea. It matters not how high we climb, How many foes our pathway block, We always conquer just in time To go to bed at 9 o'clock. The Mother Watch She never closed her eyes in sleep till we were all in bed; On party nights till we came home she often sat and read. We little thought about it then, when we were young and gay, How much the mother worried when we children were away. We only knew she never slept when we were out at night, And that she waited just to know that we'd come home all right. Why, sometimes when we'd stayed away till one or two or three, It seemed to us that mother heard the turning of the key; For always when we stepped inside she'd call and we'd reply, But we were all too young back then to understand just why. Until the last one had returned she always kept a light, For mother couldn't sleep until she'd kissed us all good night.