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These to thee, O God, we owe, Source whence all our blessings flow, And for these, my soul shall raise, Grateful vows and solemn praise.

Yet should rising whirlwinds tear,
From its stem the ripening ear;
Should the fig tree's blasted shoot,
Drop her green untimely fruit

Should the vine put forth no more,
Nor the olive yield her store ;
Though the sick’ning focks should fall,
And the herds desert the stall,

Should thine alter'd hand restrain,
The early and the latterrain ;
Blast each op'ning bud of joy,
And the rising year destroy.

Yet to thee my soul should raise,
Grateful vows and solemn praise;
And when ev'ry blessing's flown,
Love thee for thyself alone,


WHEN Ananias thought to hide

The money he bad got,

He and his wife Sapphira died

For their deceitful plot.

Then let all children shun and fear

To say what is not true,
As God can always see and hear-

And he can punish too.

No real good can e'er proceed

From doing what is wrong ; For if at first it should succeed,

'Twill not continue long.

Elisha's servant told a lie,

In hopes to gain some gold : He knew his master was not by,

And never would be told.

But God with great displeasure sees,

The money thus procured ; And for this sin, a sad disease

He all his life endured,


Some poor little ig ant children delight

In wearing fine ribbons and caps; But this is a very ridiculous sight,

Though they do not know it, perhaps.

Clean hands and clean faces, and neatly combed hair

And garments made decent and plain,
Are better than all the fine things they can wear,

Which make them look vulgar and vain.

A girl who will keep herself tidy and clean,

(As every child easily may,) Needs not be afraid or ashamed to be seen,

Whoever may come in her way.

Then, children, attend to the words you repeat,

And always remember this line'Tis a credit to any good girl to be neat,

But quite a disgrace to be fine.


Why should our garments, made to hide
Our parents' shame, provoke our pride?
The arts of dress did ne'er begin
Till Eve, our mother, learnt to sin.

When first she put the cov'ring on,
Her robe of innocence was gone;
And yet her children vainly boast
In the sad marks of glory lost.

How proud we are, bow fond to show
Our clothes, and call them rich and new!

When the poor sheep and silk-vorm wore Thật very clothing long before.

The tulip and the butterfly,
Appear in gayer coats than I ;
And though I deck me as I will,
Flies, worms, and ftow'rs exceed me stiti,

Then will I set my heart to find,
Inward adornings of the mind;-
Knowledge and virtue, truth and grace ;-
These are the robes of richest dress.

No more shall worms with me compare,
This is the raiment angels wear;
The Son of God when here below,
Put on this blest apparel too.

It never fades, it ne'er gļows old,
Nor fears the rain, ņor moth nor mouldā
It takes no spot, but still refines,-
The more 'tis worn, the more it shines.

In this; on earth, would I appear,
Then go to beay'n and wear it tbere ;
God will approve it in his sight,
'Tis his own work, and his delight.,


Sporting on the village green
The tidy Irish girl is seen,
Or, beside her cottage neat,
Knitting on the garden seat.
Now within her humble door
Sweeping clean her kitchen floor,
While upon her dresser white
Her pewter plates are polish'd bright,
Mary never idle sits,
She either sews, or spins, or 'knits:
Hard she labours all the week,
With sparkling eye and rosy cheek,
And, on Sunday, Mary goes,
Neatly dressed in decent clothes-
Gets her task, (a constant rule,)
And bastens to the Sunday-school.
O how good should we be'found,
Who live on Ireland's happy ground;
Where rich, and poor, and wretched, may
Al learn to walk in wisdom's way!


Lord, I have pass'd another day,

And come to thank thee for thy care

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