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النشر الإلكتروني

PRAYER FOR GUIDANCE.

39

PRAYER FOR GUIDANCE.

My Heavenly Father, wilt Thou hear

The words a child would speak, When kneeling down to offer prayer,

And for Thy blessing seek?

Oh! wilt Thou teach me how to pray ?

Direct my thoughts aright;
Give me the words my lips should say,

And bless me with Thy light.

Guide me in all my way below;

Keep me from every snare; Grant me Thy perfect law to know,

And Thy salvation share.

And when at last my course is run,

And time shall be no more-
When all my work on earth is done,

And all my trials o'er

I'll wing my everlasting flight

To realms of bliss above,
Where with the throngs of angels bright,

I'll sing my Saviour's love.

A MORNING HYMN.

LORD of my life, O may Thy praise

Employ my noblest powers,
Whose goodness lengthens out my days

And fills the circling hours.

Preserved by Thy almighty arm,

I pass’d the shades of night, Serene and safe from every harm,

And see returning light.

While many spent the night in sighs,

And restless pain and woes ;
In gentle sleep I closed my eyes,

And undisturbed repose.

O let the same almighty care

My waking hours attend; From every danger, every snare,

My heedless steps defend.

Smile on my minutes as they roll,

And guide my future days; And let Thy goodness fill my soul

With gratitude and praise.

MRS. STEELE.

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WHATEVER brawls disturb the street,

There should be peace at home; Where sisters dwell and brothers meet,

Quarrels should never come.

Birds in their little nests agree,

And 't is a shameful sight, When children of one family

Fall out, and chide, and fight.

Hard names at first, and threatning words,

That are but noisy breath,

May grow to clubs and naked swords,

To murder and to death.

The wise will let their anger cool,

At least before 't is night; But in the bosom of a fool,

It burns till morning light.

Pardon, O LORD, our childish rage,

Our little brawls remove; That as we grow to riper age,

Our hearts may all be love.

WATTS.

THE BUTTERFLY.

The Butterfly, an idle thing,
Nor honey makes, nor yet can sing,

Like to the bee and bird;
Nor does it, like the prudent ant,
Lay up the grain for time of want,

A wise and cautious hoard.

My youth is but a summer's day,
Then, like the bee and ant, I 'll lay

A store of learning by;
And though from flower to flower I rove,
My stock of wisdom I'll improve,

Nor be a Butterfly.

À VOICE FROM HEAVEN.

43

FOR A LITTLE CHILD IN SICKNESS.

ALMIGHTY GOD, I'm very ill,
But cure me if it be Thy will ;
For Thou canst take away my pain,
And make me strong and well again.

Let me be patient every day,
And mind what those who nurse me say ;
And grant that all I have to take,
May do me good, for Jesus' sake.

JANE TAYLOR.

A VOICE FROM HEAVEN.

I SHINE in the light of God,

His likeness stamps my brow,
Through the shadows of death my feet have trod,

And I reign in glory now.
No aching heart is here,

No keen and thrilling pain,
No wasted cheek, where the frequent tear

Hath rolled and left its stain.

I have found the joys of heaven;

I am one of the angel band; To my head a crown is given,

And a harp is in my hand.

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