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I took a piece of plastic clay
And idly fashioned it one day;
And as my fingers pressed it still,
It moved and yielded at my will.


I came again when days were past,
The form I gave it still it bore,
And as my fingers pressed it still,
I could change that form no more.

I took a piece of living clay,
And gently formed it day by day,
And molded with my power and art,
A young child's soft and yielding heart.

I came again when days were gone;
It was a man I looked upon,
He still that early imprint bore,
And I could change it never more.

Children are natural mimics. They act like their parents in spite of all our attempts to teach them good manners.

* * * *

 Many people begin their criticism with sincere praise followed by the word "but" and ending with a critical statement. For example, in trying to change a child's careless attitude toward studies, we might say, "We're really proud of you, Johnny, for raising your grades this term. But if you had worked harder on your algebra, the results would have been better."
In this case, Johnny might feel encouraged until he heard the word "but." He might then question the sincerity of the original praise. To him, the praise seemed only to be a contrived lead-in to a critical inference of failure. Credibility would be strained, and we probably would not achieve our objective of changing Johnny's attitude toward his studies.
This could be easily overcome by changing the word "but" to "and." "We're really proud of you, Johnny, for raising your grades this term, and by continuing the same conscientious efforts next term, your algebra grade can be up with the others."
Now Johnny would accept the praise because there was no follow-up of an inference of failure. We have called his attention to the behaviour we wished to change indirectly, and the chances are he will try to live up to our expectations.--Dale Carnegie.

A woman sat by a hearthside place
Reading a book with a pleasant face,
Till a child came up with a childish frown
And pushed the book, saying, "Put it down."
Then the mother, slapping his curly head,
Said, "Troublesome child, go off to bed;
A great deal of God's Book I must know
To train you up as a child should go."
And the child went off to bed to cry
And denounce religion--by and by.

Another woman bent o'er a book
With a smile of joy and an intent look,
Till a child came up and joggled her knee,
And said of the book, "Put it down--take me."
Then the mother sighed as she stroked his head,
Saying softly, "I shall never get it read;
But I'll try by loving to learn His Will,
And His Love into my child instill."
That child went to bed without a sigh
And will love her Jesus--by and by.

--Aquilla Webb

The police department of Houston, Texas, issued a leaflet giving rules for raising delinquent children:
"Begin from infancy to give him everything he wants. When he picks up bad words, laugh at him. Never give him any spiritual training. Wait until he is twenty-one and let him decide for himself. Don't use the word `wrong'. It may give him a guilt complex. Do everything for him so that he will be experienced in throwing all responsibility on others. Let him read any printed matter he can get his hands on.
"Quarrel frequently in his presence--he won't be too shocked when the home is broken up. Give him all the spending money he wants. He shouldn't have things as tough as you had them. AND prepare for a life of grief--you will have it!"

God borrows from many creatures to make a little girl. He uses the song of a bird, the squeal of a pig, the stubbornness of a mule, the antics of a monkey, the spryness of a grasshopper, the curiosity of a cat, the slyness of a fox, the softness of a kitten, and to top it all off, He adds the mysterious mind of a woman.
I'd rather be a mother
Than anyone on Earth--
Bringing up a child or two
Of unpretentious birth.

I'd rather tuck a little child
All safe and sound in bed--
Than twine a chain of diamonds
About my foolish head.

I'd rather wash a smudgy face
With round, bright baby eyes--
Than paint the pageantry of fame,
Or walk among the wise.

--Meredith Gray

My hand is large and his is small
And there is nothing on Earth at all
More important than the task
That lies ahead of me. I ask
For wisdom, Lord, that I may lead
This child aright; his every need
Depends on me. Be Thou my guide
That I, in walking by his side,
May choose the right paths for his feet.
The days are swift, the years are fleet,
Make me alert in deed and word
As we go forward, blessed Lord,
His precious clinging hand in mine,
With always, Lord, my hand in Thine.
--Grace Noll Crowell
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