When I hear them telling lies,
Talking foolish, cursing, swearing,
First I'll try to make them wise,
Or I'll soon go out of hearing.
What tho' I be low and mean,
I'll engage the rich to love me,
While I'm modest, neat, and clean,
And submit when they reprove me.
If I should be poor and sick,

I shall meet I hope with pity;
Since I love to help the weak,
Tho' they're neither fair nor witty.

I'll not willingly offend,

Nor be easily offended;

What's amiss I'll strive to mend,

And endure what can't be mended.

May I be so watchful still,

O'er my humours and my passion, As to speak and do no ill,

Though it should be all the fashion.

Wicked fashions lead to hell;

Ne'er may I be found complying, But in life behave so well

Not to be afraid of dying.

How fine has the day been, how bright was the sun,

How lovely and joyful the course that he run, Tho' he rose in a mist when his race he begun,

And there follow'd some droppings of rain! But now the fair traveller comes to the west, His rays are all gold, and his beauties are best; He paints the sky gay as he sinks to his rest, And foretells a bright rising again.

Just such is the Christian: his course he begins,

Like the sun in a mist, while he mourns for his sins,

And melts into tears; then he breaks out and shines,

And travels his heavenly way:

But when he comes nearer to finish his race, Like a fine setting sun he looks richer in grace,

And gives a sure hope at the end of his days Of rising in brighter array.

Some Copies of the following HYMN having got abroad already into several hands, the Author has been persuaded to permit it to appear in public, at the end of these SONGS FOR CHILDREN.

A CRADLE HYMN.

HUSH! my dear, lie still and slumber,
Holy angels guard thy bed!
Heav'nly blessings without number
Gently falling on thy head.

Sleep, my babe, thy food and raiment,
House and home, thy friends provide;
All without thy care and payment,
All thy wants are well supply'd.

How much better thou'rt attended
Than the Son of God could be;
When from heaven he descended,
And became a child like thee!
Soft and easy is thy cradle;

Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay,
When his birth-place was a stable,
And his softest bed was hay.
Blessed babe! what glorious features,
Spotless, fair, divinely bright!
Must he dwell with brutal creatures?
How could angels bear the sight!
Was there nothing but a manger
Cursed sinners could afford,
To receive the heav'nly stranger?
Did they thus affront their Lord?
Soft, my child! I did not chide thee,
Tho' my song might sound too hard;
?Tis thy nurse* that sits beside thee,
And her arms shall be thy guard.
Yet to read the shameful story,

How the Jews abus'd their King,
How they serv'd the Lord of Glory,
Makes me angry while I sing.

*Here may be used the words brother, sister, friend, &c.

See the kinder shepherds round him,
Telling wonders from the sky!

Where they sought him, there they found him,

With his virgin mother by.

See the lovely babe a-dressing,
Lovely infant how he smil'd!
When he wept, the mother's blessing
Sooth'd and hush'd the holy child.
Lo! he slumbers in his manger,
Where the horned oxen fed;
Peace, my darling, here's no danger,
Here's no ox a-near thy bed.

'Twas to save thee, child, from dying,
Save my dear from burning flame,
Bitter groans and endless crying,
That thy blest Redeemer came.

May'st thou live to know and fear him,
Trust and love him, all thy days;
Then go dwell for ever near him,
See his face, and sing his praise!
I could give thee thousand kisses,
Hoping what I most desire;
Not a mother's fondest wishes
Can to greater joys aspire.