I'M NOT TOO YOUNG FOR GOD TO SEE.

My heart resolves, my tongue obeys,
And angels shall rejoice

To hear their mighty Maker's praise
Sound from a feeble voice.

WATTS.

I'M NOT TOO YOUNG FOR GOD TO SEE.

I'm not too young for God to see,

He knows my name and nature too,

And all day long He looks at me,

And sees my actions through and through.

He listens to the words I say,

And knows the thoughts I have within, And whether I'm at work or play,

He's sure to see me if I sin.

If some good minister is by,

It makes us careful what we do;

Then how much more ought we to fear,

The LORD who sees us through and through.

Then, when I want to do amiss,
However pleasant it may be,
I'll always try to think of this-

I'm not too young for GOD to see.

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A CHILD'S HYMN OF PRAISE.

I THANK the goodness and the grace,
Which on my birth have smiled,
And made me in these latter days,
A happy Christian child.

I was not born as thousands are,
Where GOD was never known;
And taught to pray a useless prayer,
To blocks of wood and stone.

I was not born a little slave,
To labor in the sun,

And wish I were but in the grave,
And all my labor done.

I was not born without a home,
Or in some broken shed;
A gipsy baby, taught to roam,
And steal my daily bread.

My God, I thank Thee, who hast planned

A better lot for me,

And placed me in this happy land,

And where I hear of Thee.

JANE TAYLOR.

A CHILD'S GRAVE.

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A CHILD'S GRAVE.

WHAT is this little grassy mound,
Where pretty daisies bloom?
What is there lying under ground?
It is an infant's tomb.

Alas, poor baby! did it die?
How dismal that must be !
To bid this pretty world good-bye,
Seems very sad to me.

Silence, my child, for could we hear

This happy baby's voice,
We should not drop another tear,
But triumph and rejoice:

"O do not ever weep for me,"
The happy soul would say;
"Nor grieve, dear child, that I am free
From that poor sleeping clay.

"Mourn not because my feeble breath Was stopp'd as soon as given;

"There's nothing terrible in death To those who come to heaven.

"No sin, no sorrow, no complaints,
My pleasures here destroy:

I live with GOD and all His saints,
And endless is our joy.

"While, with the spirits of the just,
My SAVIOUR I adore,

I smile upon my sleeping dust,
That now can weep no more.'

JANE TAYLOR.

EVENING THOUGHTS.

ALL the little flowers I see
Their tiny eyes are closing;
The birds are roosting on the tree,
The lambkins are reposing.

The sun, where that dull streak of red
Is faintly glimmering still,
They say has gone to seek his bed
Behind the purple hill.

And I through all the quiet night,
Must sleep the hours away,
That I may waken fresh and bright,
To live another day.

EVENING THOUGHTS.

And well I know whose lips will smile,
And pray for me and bless me;
And will talk to me the while

Her gentle hands undress me.

She 'll tell me there is One above,
Upon a glorious throne,

Who loves me with a tender love,
More tender than her own.

He made the sun, the stars, the skies,
The plants, the shrubs, the flowers,
And all the birds and butterflies
That flutter through the bowers.

He keeps them underneath His wings,
And there they safely rest;

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Yet, though they 're bright and lovely things,

He loves us far the best.

For when the birds and flowers are dead,

Their whole of life is past;

But though we die, yet He has said,
Our life shall always last.

And we shall live with Him in heaven;

For He has sent His SON

To die, that we may be forgiven

The sins that we have done.