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LORD, I have pass’d another day,

And come to thank thee for thy care ; Forgive my faults in work and play,

And listen to my ev'ning pray'r,

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Thy favour gives my daily bread,

And friends, who all my wants supply ; And safely aow I rest my head,

Preserv'd and guarded by thine eye.

Look down in pity, and forgive

Whate'er I've said or done amiss, And help me every day I live,

To serve thee better than in this,

Now, while I speak, be pleas'd to take

A belpless child beneath thy care ; And condescend, for Jesus' sake,

To listen to my ev’ning prayer.


What is this little grassy mound,

Where pretty daisies bloom ? What is there lying under ground ?

It is an infant's tomb,

Alas! poor baby, did it die ?

How dismal that must be !
To bid this pretty world good-bye,

Seems very sad to me.

Silence, my child; for could we hear

This happy baby's voice,
We should not drop another tear,

But triumph and rejoice.

“O do not ever weep for me,”

The happy soul would say ; “ Nor grieve, dear child, that I am free

From that poor sleeping clay.

“ Mourn not because my feeble breath

Was stopp'd as soon as giv’n : There's nothing terrible in death,

To those who come to Heaven,

“ No sin, no sorrow, no complaints,

My pleasures here destroy :
I live with God and all bis saints,

And endless is our Joy.

“ While with the spirits of the just,

My Saviour I adore,
I smile upon my sleeping dust

That now can weep no more.”


Father of all, we bow to thee,

Who dwell'st in heaven ador'd, But present still through all thy works,

The universal Lord.

For ever hallow'd be thy name

By all beneath the skies; Ard may thy kingdom still advance,

Till grace to glory rise.

A grateful homage may we yield,

With hearts resign'd to thee; And as in heaven thy will is done,

On earth so let it be.

From day to day we humbly own

The hand that feeds us still : Give us our bread, and make us rest

Contented in thy will.

Our sins before thee we confess;

Oh may they be forgiv'n; As we to others mercy show,

We mercy beg from heav'n.

Still let thy grace our life direct,

From evil guard our way, And in temptation's fatal path

Permit us not to stray,

For tbine's the pow'r, the kingdom thine,

All glory's due to thee ; Thine from eternity they were,

And thine shall ever be.


GREAT God, and wilt thou condescend
To be my father and my friend?
1, a poor child, and thou so high,
The Lord of earth, and air, and sky!

Art thou my Father ?-canst thou bear
To hear my poor imperfect pray’r;
Or stoop to listen to the praise
That such a little one can raise ?

Art thou my Father?-let me be
A meek obedient child to thee;
And try, in word, and deed, and thought,
To serve and praise thee as I ought.
Art thou my Father ?—I'll depend
Upon the care of such a friend ;
And only wish to do, and be,
Whatever seemeth good to Thee.

Art thou my Father ?-.then, at last,
When all my days on earth are past,
Send down ; and take me in thy love,
To be thy better child above.

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In the soft season of thy youth,

In nature's smiling bloom,
Ere age arrive, and trembling wait

Its summons to the tomb

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Remember thy Creator, God;

For him thy pow'rs employ;
Make him thy fear, thy love, thy hope,

Thy confidence, thy joy.

He shall defend and guide thy course

Through life's uncertain sea, Till thou art landed on the shore

Of bless'd eternity.

Then seek the Lord betimes, and choose

The path of heav'nly truth ;
The earth affords no lovelier sight

Than a religious youth.



How happy is the child that hears

Instruction's warning voice; And who celestial Wisdom makes

His early, only choice!

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