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THE CHILD IN THE MORNING.
Now I wake and ope my eyes,
For the sun is in the skies;
He has left his kingly bed,
Clouds of gold and rosy red,
And the earth is full of light
Beaming from his eyes so bright.
Little eyes must open too,
Little folks have work to do.
I must dress me quick and neat,
Nice and clean from head to feet;
Good cold water must not spare,
my teeth and comb my
Then kneel down and slowly say-
Thinking not of work or play,
But with fix'd and earnest thought-
That dear prayer our Saviour taught;
Then think softly how to-day
I the Saviour can obey ;
How God's name can hallow'd be,
And His will be done by me.
I must be a Christian child,
Gentle, patient, meek, and mild;
Must be honest, simple, true,
words and actions toc. I must cheerfully obey, Giving up my will and way.
HEAVEN, OR THE BETTER LAND.
Must not always thinking be
What is pleasantest to me;
But must try kind things to do,
And make others happy, too.
If a playmate treats me ill,
I must be forgiving still;
I must learn
Not my schoolmates to excel,
But because my heart's delight
Is in doing what is right.
And in all I do and say,
In my lessons and my play,
Must remember God can view
All I think and all I do:
Glad that He can know I try,
Glad that children such as I,
and small, Can serve Him who loves us all.
HEAVEN, OR THE BETTER LAND. I HEAR thee speak of a better land, Thou call'st its children a happy band; Mother, oh! where is that radiant shore ? Sball we not seek it, and weep no more ? Is it where the flower of the orange blows, And the fire-flies glance thro’the myrtle boughs ?
Not there; not there—my child.
Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise,
And the date grows ripe under sunny skies ?
Or 'midst the green islands of glittering seas,
Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze,
And strange bright birds on their starry wings,
Bear the rich hues of all glorious things ?
Not there; not there—my child.
Is it far away in some region old,
Where the rivers wander o’er sands of gold ?
Where the burning rays of the ruby shine,
And the diamond lights up the secret mine,
And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand-
Is it there, sweet mother, that better land?
Not there; not there—my child. Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy, Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy ; Dreams cannot picture a world so fair, Sorrow and death may not enter there; Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom; For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb,
'Tis there ; 'tis there--my child.
I love the cheerful summer-time,
With all its birds and flowers,
Its shining garments green and smooth,
Its cool, refreshing showers.
I love to hear the little birds,
That carol on the trees;
I love the gentle murmuring stream,
I love the evening breeze.
I love the bright and glorious sün,
That gives us light and heat;
I love the pearly drops of dew,
That sparkle 'neath my feet.
I love to hear the busy hum
Of honey-making bee,
And learn a lesson, hard to learn,
Of patient industry.
I love to see the playful lambs,
So innocent and gay ;
I love the faithful, watchful dog,
Who guards them night and day.
I love to think of Him who made
These pleasant things for me;
Who gave me life, and health, and strength,
And eyes that I might see.
I love the holy Sabbath-day,
So peaceful, calm, and still;
And oh, I love to go to church,
It was a summer's evening,
Old Kaspar's work was done,
And he before his cottage door
Was sitting in the sun;
And by him sported on the green
His little grandchild, Wilbelmine.
She saw ber brother Peterkin
Roll something large and round,
Which he beside the rivulet
In playing there had found;
He came to ask what he had found
That was so large, and smooth, and round.