Tuesday, December 8, 2009

"The Little Hurts" by Edgar A. Guest

Every night she runs to me
With a bandaged arm or a bandaged knee,
A stone-bruised heel or a swollen brow,
And in sorrowful tones she tells me how
She fell and "hurted hers'f to-day"
While she was having the "bestest play."

And I take her up in my arms and kiss
The new little wounds and whisper this:
"Oh, you must be careful, my little one,
You mustn't get hurt while your daddy's gone,
For every cut with its ache and smart
Leaves another bruise on your daddy's heart."

Every night I must stoop to see
The fresh little cuts on her arm or knee;
The little hurts that have marred her play,
And brought the tears on a happy day;
For the path of childhoord is oft beset
With care and trouble and things that fret.

Oh, little girl, when you older grow,
Far greater hurts than these you'll know;
Greater bruises will bring your tears,
Around the bend of the lane of years,
But come to your daddy with them at night
And he'll do his best to make all things right.


"Heavenly Father, thank you for my four precious children. As their earthly father, please use me to lovingly console their tender little hearts whenever they are hurting. Thank you for protecting them by preventing them from getting hurt even worse than they do sometimes. Please take up the slack where I lack and transfer their allegiance from me, their earthly father, to You, our heavenly Father. Amen."

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