A Poem By Ellen

This poem Ellen wrote and gave to me for Christmas.

                 Cold                         

I just came in from my morning walk,

I am so cold I can barely talk!

A very cold chill goes up my back

The howling wind does not slack.

                                 ~Ellen                          

My Hope Is Built on Nothing Less

My hope is built on nothing less 
Than Jesus' blood and righteousness;
I dare not trust the sweetest frame,
But wholly lean on Jesus' name

On Christ, the Solid Rock, I stand; 
All other ground is sinking sand,
All other ground is sinking sand.

When darkness veils his lovely face,
I rest on His unchanging grace;
In ev'ry high and stormy gale,
My anchor holds within the veil.

On Christ, the Solid Rock I stand;
All other ground is sinking sand,
All other ground is sinking sand.

His oath, His covenant, His blood,
Support me in the whelming flood;
When all around my soul gives way,
He then is all my hope and stay.

On Christ, the Solid Rock I stand;
All other ground is sinking sand,
All other ground is sinking sand.

When He shall come with trumpet sound,
O may I then in Him be found,
Dressed in His righteousness alone,
Faultless to stand before the throne.

On Christ, the Solid Rock I stand;
All other ground is sinking sand,
All other ground is sinking sand.

Words: Edward Mote (w. 1834)
Music: William B. Bradbury (w. 1863)

Summer Morning

This is a poem Ellen wrote last Tuesday for Grandma's birthday.

Every morning I wake up.

I see the sun and then I know,

It's time to feed the pup.

We feed our pup,

We water our garden,

And then we see a robin!

Mr. Robin is chirp, chirp, chirping.

I think he likes the morning!
                                                             -Ellen Vogltanz

More About Jesus By Eliza Hewett

More about Jesus would I know,

More of His grace to others show;
More of His saving fullness see,
More of His love who died for me.
More about Jesus let me learn,
More of His holy word discern;
Spirit of God, my teacher be,
Showing the things of Christ to me.
More about Jesus in His word,
Holding communion with my Lord;
Hearing His voice in every line,
Making each faithful saying mine.
More about Jesus on His throne,
Riches and glory all His own;
More of His kingdom's sure increase;
More of His coming, Prince of peace.

The Flower

By Ellen Vogltanz

A flower is a beautiful sight,

When I see it in the light,

But when I have to go inside,

I'll still see it by my side.

When I wake up in the morning,

I'll go outside and see,

My little flower friend,

As light as it can be.

But when it starts to rain ,

I'll have to go inside again.

I'm looking out the window pane,

I see the merry rain,

Dropping, drooping on my lane.

The End

This is a poem Ellen wrote today in our backyard.

All Things Bright and Beautiful

by Cecil Alexandar

All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.

Each little flower that opens,
Each little bird that sings,
He made their glowing colors,
He made their tiny wings.

The purple-headed mountain,
The river running by,
The sunset, and the morning,
That brighten up the sky;

The cold wind in the winter,
The pleasant summer sun,
The ripe fruits in the garden,
He made them every one.

The tall trees in the greenwood,
the meadows where we play,
The rushes by the water,
We gather every day;

He gave us eyes to see them,
And lips that we might tell
How great is God Almighty,
Who has made all things well.

The Wind By Robert Louis Stevenson

I saw you toss the kites on high
And blow the birds about the sky;
And all around I heard you pass,
Like ladies' skirts across the grass-
O wind a-blowing all day long,
O wind that sings so loud a song!

I saw the different things you did,
But always you yourself you hid.
I felt you push , I heard you call,
I could not see yourself at all-
O wind a-blowing all day long,
O wind that sings so loud a song!

O you that are so strong and cold,
O blower, are you young or old?
Are you a beast of field and tree,
Or just a stronger child than me?
O wind a-blowing all day long,
O wind that sings so loud a song!

BED IN SUMMER
By Robert Louis Stevenson

In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candlelight.
In summer, quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.

I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree,
Or hear the grown-up people's feet
Still going past me in the street.

And does it seem hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue,
And I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?