Don't kill the birds, the pretty birds,
That play among the trees;
"Twould make the earth a cheerless place To see no more of these.
The little birds-how fond they play!
Do not disturb their sport;
But let them warble forth their songs,
Till winter cuts them short.
Don't kill the birds, the happy birds,
That cheer the field and grove;
Such harmless things to look upon,
They claim our warmest love.
I WANT to be like Jesus,
So lowly and so meek;
For no one mark'd an angry word,
That ever heard Him speak.
I want to be like Jesus,
So frequently in prayer:
Alone upon the mountain-top,
He met his Father there.
I want to be like Jesus:
I never, never find
That He, though persecuted, was
To any one unkind.
I want to be like Jesus,
Engaged in doing good;
So that of me it may be said,
"She hath done what she could.”
Alas, I'm not like Jesus!
As any one may see:
O gentle Saviour, send Thy grace
And make me like to Thee.
Now, before I run to play,
I must not forget to pray
To Him who kept me through the night,
And woke me with the morning light.
Help me, Lord, to love Thee more
Than I ever loved before;
my work and in my play,
Be Thou with me through the day.
THE ARK AND DOVE. THERE was a noble ark, Sailing o'er waters dark;
And wide around
Not one tall tree was seen,
Not flower, nor leaf of green-
All, all was drown'd.
Then a soft wing was spread,
And o'er the billows dread
A meek dove flew ;
DID I this morn devoutly pray
For God's assistance through the day?
And did I read His sacred Word,
To make my life therewith accord ?
Did I for any purpose try
To hide the truth, or tell a lie ?
Was I obedient, humble, mild-
To prove myself a Christian child?
Did I my thoughts with prudence guide,
Checking ill-humour, anger, pride?
Did I my lips from aught refrain
That might my fellow-creature pain?
Did I with cheerful patience bear
The little ills that all must share?
To all my duties through this day
Did I a due attention pay ?
And did I, when the day was o'er,
God's watchful care again implore?
Saviour, Thy grace divine impart,
To feed my soul, and cleanse my heart,
And make me meet for heaven above,
To join Thy saints in praise and love.
PRETTY bee, pray tell me why
Thus from flower to flower you fly,
Curling sweets the livelong day,
Never leaving off to play.
Little child, I'll tell you why
Thus from flower to flower I fly:
Let the truth thy thoughts engage,
From thy youth to riper age.
|