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 so,
Afford me raiment too?

And seeing, Lord, thou dost withhold

The riches some possess,

Grant me what's better far than goldThy 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.

CONSCIENCE; OR, THE LIGHT WITHIN.

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 hold
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.

PRAYER FOR TENDERNESS OF CONSCIENCE.

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 nigh,
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.

THE LORD WILL HEAR THY PRAYER,

MAY I try to lisp his 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.

THE FLOWERS THAT NEVER DIE.

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 beauty 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 shed 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.

THE butterfly, an idle thing,

Nor honey makes, nor yet can sing

Like to the bee and bird

Nor does it, like the prudent ant.
Lay up for times of future want,

A wise and cautious hoard.