p. 419 | THE MINISTER'S DAUGHTER by John Greenleaf Whittier

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · May 7, 1894

THE MINISTER'S DAUGHTER.

By John Greenleaf Whittier

In the minister's morning sermon He told of the primal fall, And how henceforth the wrath of God Rested on each and all,

And how of his will and pleasure All souls, save a chosen few, Were doomed to eternal torture, And held in the way thereto.

Yet never, by faith's unreason, A saintlier soul was tried, And never the harsh old lesson A tenderer heart belied.

And after the painful service, On that pleasant, bright first day, He walked with his little daughter Through the apple bloom of May.

Sweet in the fresh, green meadow Sparrow and blackbird sung; Above him their tinted petals The blossoming orchard hung.

Around on the wonderful glory The minister looked, and smiled; "How good is the Lord, who gives us These gifts from his hand, my child!"

"Behold in the bloom of apples, And the violets in the sward, A tint of the old, lost beauty Of the garden of the Lord."

Then up spake the little maiden, Treading on snow and pink: "O father! these pretty blossoms Are very wicked I think.

"Had there been no Garden of Eden There had never been a fall, And if never a tree had blossomed, God would have loved us all."

"Hush, child!" the father answered. "By his decree man fell; His ways are in clouds and darkness, But he doeth all things well.

"And whether, by his ordaining, To us cometh good or ill, Joy or pain, light or shadow, We must fear and love him still."

"Oh, I fear him!" said the daughter, "And I try to love him, too; But I wish he were kind and gentle, Kind and loving as are you."

The minister groaned in spirit, As the tremulous lips of pain, And wide, wet eyes uplifted, Questioned his own in vain.

Bowing his head he pondered The words of his little one. Had he erred in his lifelong teachings? Had he wrong to his Master done?

To what grim and dreadful idol Had he lent the holiest name? Did his own heart, loving and human, The God of his worship shame?

And lo! from the bloom and greenness, From the tender skies above, And the face of his little daughter, He read a lesson of love.

No more as the cloudy terror Of Sinai's mount of law, But as Christ in the Syrian lilies The vision of God he saw.

Thereafter his hearers noted In his prayers a tenderer strain, And never the message of hatred Burned on his lips again.

And the scoffing tongue was prayerful, And the blinded eyes found sight, And hearts as flint aforetime Grew soft in his warmth and light. —Whittier.