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Give me, at least, the crumbs that fall

From tables richly spread.

'Thou canst for all my wants provide,

And bless my homely crust :
The ravens cry, and are supplied

And ought not I to trust ?

Behold the lilies how they grow,

Though they can nothing do; And will not God, who clothes them 30,

Afford me raiment too?

And seeing, Lord, thou dost withhold

The riches some possess, Grant me what's better far than gold

Thy grace and righteousness.

Oh, may I heav'nly treasure find,

And chuse the better part; Give me an humble, pious mind,

A meek and lowly heart.

Forgive my sins, my follie's cure,

And grant the help I need : And then, though I am mean and poor,

I shall be rich indeed.


How shall a simple child be taught

Thy holy law to understand ; How purify each sinful thought,

And live by thy command ?

By turning to the light within,

Which doth thy will declare,
Reproving for each secret sin;

For thou canst read it there.

Then let my heart, when night draws near,

Before I close my eyes to rest,
Look o'er the day that's past, for fear

I have thy will transgress'd.

And with the morn's returning light

Lift up my soul to thee ;
And keep me always in thy sight,

And often visit me.

Oh! let not falsehood tempt my lips

To frame deceit, but may I bold
Within my heart, thy sacred truth,

More precious far than gold.

Thus may a simple child be taught,

Thy holy law to understand;
To purify each sinful thought,

And live by thy command.


I want a principle within

Of godly,jealous fear;
A sensibility of sin,

A pain to feel it near.

That I from thee no more may part,

No more thy goodness grieve;
The filial awe, the fleshly heart,

The tender conscience give.

Quick as the pupil of an eye,

O God my conscience make!
Awake my soul, when sin is nigb,

And keep it still awake.

If to the right or left I stray,

That moment, Lord, reprove ;
And let me weep my life's short day

For having griev'd thy love.

Oh may the least omission, pain

My well-instructed soul !
And drive me to that grace again

Which makes the wounded whole.


May I try to lisp bis praise
Who protects my infant days ?
Will the Lord of glory hear?
Will he, mother? Yes, my dear.

May I pluck the flow'rs that grow?
Will he make fresh blossoms blow ?
Will the Lord of heav'n above
Let me love him ? Yes, my love.

Oh! I will then, I will say,
Make me better ev'ry day-
Make me gentle, good, and kind
He will hear thee-thou wilt find.


I wish that flow'rs would always grow

As sweet as they are made,
Then lilies would be white as snow,

And roses never fade.

But now they wither and decay,

And all their heauty flies;
The rose, that sweetly blooms to-day,

Before to-morrow dies.

O yes, my love ! but flow'rs there are

That blossom in the breast-
By heav'nly goodness planted there,

The sweetest and the best.

The snow-white lily without stain

Is not so pure as truth;
It never fades, but shall remain

In everlasting youth.

And sweeter than the sweetest rose

Is love shcd o'er thy mind;
The heart is tender where it flows-

To ev'ry creature kind.

These are the flow'rs that never die,

But bloom throughout the year:
The blossoms of sweet piety

No blight but sin need fear.



The butterfly, an idle thing,
Nor honey makes, nor yet can sing

Like to the bee and birda
Nor does it, like the prudent ant.
Lay up for times of future want,

A wise and cautious hoard.

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