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Hasten, siuner! to return,

Stay not for to-morrow's sun ; best thy lamp should fail to burn

Ere salvation's work is done.

Hasten, sinner! to be blest!

Stay not for to-morrow's sun,
Lest perdition thee arrest,

Ere the morrow is begun.


Happy the child whose early years

Receive instruction well;
Who hates the sinner's path, and fears

The road that leads to hell.

When we devote our youth to God,

'Tis pleasing in his eyes; A flow'r when offer'd in the bud,

Is no mean sacrifice.

'Tis easier work if we begin

To fear the Lord betimes;
While sinners that grow old in sin,

Are harden'd in their crimes.

'Twill save us from a thousand snares

To mind religion young, Grace will preserve our following years,

And make our virtue strong.

To thee, Almighty God, to thee

Our childhood we resign; 'Twill please us to look back, and see

That our whole lives were thine.

Let the sweet work of pray'r and praise

Employ my youngest breath;
Thus I'm prepar’d for longer days,

Or fit for early death.


Author of good! to thee I turn;

Thy ever-wakeful eye
Alone can all my wants discern,

Thy hand alone supply.

With bread sufficient to the day

My mortal frame supply,
And feed the soul, that moves my clay,

With manna from on high.

O let thy fear within me dwell,

Thy love my footsteps guide ; That love shall vainer loves expel,

That fear all fears beside.

Do thou my erring feet secure ;

O lead me far from ill;

And keep me upright, just, and pure,

In act, in word, and will.

Not to my wish, but to my want,

Do thou thy gifts apply ;
Unask'd, what good thou knowest, grant ;

What ill, though ask'd, deny.


Praise to God, immortal praise,
For the love that crowns our days;
Bounteous source of ev'ry joy!
Let thy praise our tongues employ:
For the blessings of the field,
For the stores the gardens yield,
For the vine's exalted juice,
For the generous olive's use.
All that Spring with bounteous hand
Scatters o'er the smiling land;
All that lib’ral Autumn pours
From her rich o'erflowing stores ;
These to thee, my God, we owe,
Source whence all our blessings flow;
And for these my soul shall raise

frateful vows and solmn praise.
Yet should rising whirlwinds tear
From its stem the rip’ning ear ;

Should the fig-tree's blasted shoot
Drop her green untimely fruit;
Yet to thee my soul should raise
Grateful vows and solemn praise ;
And, when ev'ry blessing's flown,
Love Thee--for thyself alone.


'Twas when the seas with hideous roar

A little bark assail'd,
And potent fear, with awful power,

O’er each on board prevailed

Save one, the Captain's darling child,

Who fearless view'd the storm, And playfal with composure smiled

At danger's threat’ning form.

“ Why sporting thus ?” a seaman cried,

When sorrows overwhelm ?" " Why yield to grief,” the boy replied -

“ My Father's at the helm ?"


Hast thou beheld the glorious sun
Through all the sky his circuit run,
At rising morn, at closing day,
And when he beam'd his noontide ray ?

Say did'st thon e'er attentive view
The ev'ning cloud, or morning dew?
Or, after rain, the wat’ry bow
Rise in the east a beauteous show ?

When darkness has o'erspread the skies,
Hast thou e'er seen the moon arise ;
And with a mild and placid light,
Shed lustre o'er the face of night?

Hast thou e'er wander'd o’er the plain,
And view'd the fields and waving grain-.
The flow'ry mead, the leafy grove,
Where all is melody and love?
Hast thou e'er trod the sandy shore,
And heard the restless ocean roar;
When rous'd by some tremendous storm,
Its billows roll in dreadful form?

Hast thou beheld the lightning stream
Through night's dark gloom with sudden gleam,
While the bellowing thunders' sound
Rolld rattling through the heav'ns profound ?


The spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue etherial sky,
And spangled heav'ns, a shining frame,
Their great Original proclaim.

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