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. O, 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 And look so very pale, and lie Down in the graveyard by his side? Shall I leave dear papa and you, MOTHER 'T is 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- The cold, dark thing you brought, "I told you God had power That withered shell to break, And from it in an hour A lovely form to take. The empty casement lies, The new-born being flies." O yes, mamma; how brightly The gayest of gay things. And dwell above the skies. THE RESURRECTION. My pretty flowers are gone away, I'm very sure the leaves will peep I'm told, that when the grave shall close Shall dead but seem to be. I know my mother tells me true; I'm not afraid to go To God, who showers my plants with dew, And covers them with snow. |