I'll tell you a way that is better than any: Not on apples, or cakes, or playthings to spend it, But over the seas to the heathen to send it. Come, listen to me, and I'll tell, if you please, Of some poor little children far over the seas. Their color is dark,for our God made them thus; But he made them with bodies and feelings like us: A soul too that never will die, has been given, And there's room for these children with Jesus in heaven. But who will now tell of such good things as these To the poor little heathen far over the seas? Little boys in this land are well off indeed: They have schools every day, where they sing, write, and read; To church they may go, and have pastors to teach How the true way to heaven through Jesus to reach: Yet, sad to remember, there are few of these For the poor little heathen far over the seas. Oh, think then of this when a penny is given, "I can help a poor child on his way home to heaven;" Then give it to Jesus, and he will approve, Nor scorn e'en the mite, if 't is offered in love: And Oh, when in prayer you to him bend your knees, Remember the children far over the seas. Tell me, mamma, if I must die Down in the graveyard by his side? Shall I leave dear papa and you, MOTHER. 'Tis true, my love, that you must die; The God who made you says you must; And every one of us shall lie, Like the dear baby, in the dust. These hands and feet and busy head Shall waste and crumble quite away; But though your body shall be dead, There is a part which can't decay. "I MUST DIE." I am young, but I must die; Lord, prepare me for my end, Then I shall with Jesus be, DEATH AND THE RESURRECTION. How still the baby's lying, To soothe his pains by singing— They say that he will, rising, Explain it, mother dear. "Dear daughter, you remember The cold, dark thing you brought, One morning in September A withered worm, you thought. "I told you God had power That withered shell to break, And from it in an hour A lovely form to take. The new-born being flies” |