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The wise will let their anger cool,

At least before 'tis night;
But in the bosom of a fool

It burns till morning light.

Pardon, O Lord, our childish rage,

Our little brawls remove;
That as we grow to riper age,

Our hearts may all be love,


WHEN Christ among the sons of men

In humble form was found, With cruel slanders, false and vain,

They compass'd bim around.

With tenderness he bore their griefs,

Their peace he still pursued ; They render'd hatred for his love,

And evil for his good.

Their malice raged without a cause,

Yet with his dying breath, He pray'd for murd'rers on the cross,

And bless'd his foes in death.

From the rich fountains of his love

What streams of mercy flow ! “ Father, forgive them, Jesus cries,

“ They know not what they do,”,

Let not this bright example sbine

In vain before our eyes :
Give us, great God! a soul like his,

To love our enemies.


SHEPHERD, seek not wealth or power ;
Let the green and leafy bower,
And the hills, and vales, and trees,
And the lonely cottage please:
. Can the gaudy, gilded room
Equal fields in summer bloom ?
Quit not, then, thy farm or fold,
Nor exchange thy peace for gold!

Thou art happier in thy sphere,
Than the children of the peer;
For neither riches, rank, nor pow'r,
Can give one single happy hour.

In the city's tempting glare,
Dwell disease, and strife and care :
Quit not then thy farm or fold,
Nor exchange thy peace for gold !


These Emmets, how little they are in our eyes !
We tread them to dust, and a troop of them dies,

Without our regard or concern ;
Yet as wise as we are, if we went to their School,
There's many a sluggard, and many a fool,

Some lessons of wisdom might learn.

They wear not their time out in sleeping or play,
But gather up corn in a sun-shiny day,

And for winter they lay up their stores ;
They manage their work in such regular forms,
One would think they foresaw all the frosts and the

And so brought their food within doors.
But I have less sense than a poor creeping ant,
If I take not due care for the things I shall want,

Nor provide against dangers in time;
When death or old age shall once stare in my face,
What a wretch shall I be in the end of my days,

If I trifle away all their prime!
Now, now, while my strength and my youth are

bloom, Let me think what shall serve me when sickness shall

come, And pray that my sins be forgiven: Let me read in good books, and believe and obey, That when death turns me out of this cottage of clay,

I may dwell in a palace in heaven.


SOME think it a hardship to work for their bread,

Although for our good it was meant; But those that don't work, have no right to be fed ;

And the idle are never content.

An honest employment brings pleasure and gain,

And makes us our troubles forget; For those that work hard have no time to complain,

And 'tis better to labour than fret.


E'en if we had riches, they could not procure

A happy and peaceable mind;
Rich people have trouble, as well as the poor,

Although of a different kind.

It signifies not what our stations have been,

Nor whether we're little or great ;
For happiness lies in the temper within,

And not in the outward estate,

We only need labour as hard as we can,

For all that our bodies may need; Still doing our duty to God and to man,

And we shall be happy indeed.


How doth the little busy bee

Improve each shining bour,
And gather honey all the day,

From ev'ry op’ning flow'r.

How skilfully she builds her cell

How neat she spreads the wax,-
And labours hard to store it well

With the sweet food she makes,

In works of labour or of skill,

I would be busy too ;
For Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do.

In books, or work, or healthful play,

Let my first years be past;
That I may give for ev'ry day,

Some good account at last.


THERE was an orchard large and round,

And plums and pears were there; But round it grew a hedge of thorns,

Which sharp and prickly were,

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