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1 Our tongues were made to bless the Lord,

And not speak ill of men;
When others give a railing word,

We must not rail again.
2 Cross words and angry names require

To be chastis'd at school; And he's in danger of hell-fire

That calls his brother, Fool.
3 But lips that dare be so profane,

To mock, and jeer, and scoff
At holy things, or holy men,

The Lord shall cut them off.
4 When children in their wanton play,

Serv'd old Elisha so;
And bid the prophet go his way,

“Go up, thou bald-head, go;"

5 God quickly stopp'd their wicked breath,

And sent two raging bears, That tore them limb from limb to death,

With blood, and groans, and tears. 6 Great God! how terrible art thou

To sinners e'er so young! Grant me thy grace, and teach me how

To tame and rule my tongue.

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1 ANGELS, that high in glory dwell,

Adore thy name, Almighty God! And devils tremble down in hell,

Beneath the terrors of thy rod. 2 And yet how wicked children dare

Abuse thy glorious, dreadful name! And when they're angry, how they swear,

And curse their fellows, and blaspheme! 3 How will they stand before thy face,

Who treated thee with such disdain, While thou shalt doom them to that place

Of everlasting fire and pain! 4 Then never shall one cooling drop To quench their burning tongues be

giv'n: But I will praise thee here, and hope

Thus to employ my tongue in heav'n. 5 My heart shall be in pain to hear

Wretches affront the Lord above: 'Tis that great God whose pow'r I fear;

That heav'nly Father whom I love. 6 If my companions grow profane,

I'll leave their friendship when I hear Young sinners take thy name in vain,

And learn to curse and learn to swear.


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1 How doth the little busy bee

Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey all the day

From ev'ry op'ning flow'r!
2 How skilfully she builds her cell!

How neat she spreads her wax!
And labours hard to store it well

With the sweet food she makes. 3 In works of labour, or of skill,

I would be busy too;
For Satan finds some mischief still

For idle hands to do. 4 In books, or works, or healthful play,

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

Some good account at last.

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1 Why should I join with those in play,

In whom I've no delight;
Who curse and swear, but never pray,

Who call ill names and fight? 2 I hate to hear a wanton song;

Their words offend my ears:
I should not dare defile my tongue

With language such as theirs,
3 Away from fools I'll turn my eyes,

Nor with the scoffers go;
I would be walking with the wise,

That wiser I may grow. 4 From one rude boy that's us'd to mock,

Ten learn the wicked jest:
One sickly sheep infects the flock,

And poisons all the rest.

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