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النشر الإلكتروني

He'll make my heart grow like His own,

All loving, good, and mild;
For He will send His SPIRIT down,

And take me for His child.

Then happily I'll lie and sleep

Within my little nest;
For well I know that He will keep

His children while they rest.

“ OUR FATHER, WHO ART IN HEAVEN."

GREAT GOD, and wilt Thou condescend
To be my Father, and my Friend?
I, a poor child, and Thou so high,
The Lord of earth, and air, and sky!

Art Thou my Father ? . Canst Thou bear
To hear my poor, imperfect prayer ?
Or stoop to listen to the praise
That such a little one can raise?

Art Thou

my

Father ? Let me be
A meek, obedient child to Thee :
And try, in word, and deed, and thought,
To serve and please Thee as I ought.

FILIAL TRUST.

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Art Thou my Father I'll depend,
Upon the care of such a Friend;
And only wish to do, and be,
Whatever seemeth good to Thee.

Art thou my Father? Then at last,
When all my days on earth are past,
Send down, and take me in Thy love,
To be Thy better child above.

JANE TAYLOR.

FILIAL TRUST.

'T was when the sea, with awful roar

A little bark assailed,
And pallid fear's distracting power

O’er each on board prevailed,

Save one, the captain's darling child,

Who steadfast viewed the storm; And cheerful, with composure smiled

At danger's threatening form.

“Why sporting thus ? ” a seaman cried,

" Whilst terrors overwhelm ? "
Why yield to fear,” the boy replied,
66 MY FATHER 's at the helm ?”

SUNDAY.

HAPPY, happy Sunday,

Thou day of peace and heaven, 'Tis fit we should give one day

To God, who gives us seven. Though other days bring sadness,

Thou bid'st us cease to mourn; Then hail, thou day of gladness !

I welcome thy return.

Happy, happy Sunday,

We will not toil to-day ; But leave to busy Monday

Our work, and toys, and play. Thy face is ever smiling,

Thou fairest of the seven ! They only speak of toiling,

But thou of rest and heaven.

Happy, happy Sunday,

Thy holy hours I prize; Thou art, indeed, heaven's own day,

The emblem of the skies. May I, O LORD! inherit

That rest when life is o'er; And with each perfect spirit

Adore Thee evermore.

EARLY RELIGION.

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EARLY RELIGION.

By cool Siloam's shady rill,

How sweet the lily grows !
How sweet the breath beneath the hill

Of Sharon's dewy rose !

Lo! such the child whose early feet

The paths of peace have trod;
Whose secret heart, with influence sweet,

Is upward drawn to God!

By cool Siloam's shady rill

The lily must decay;
The rose that blooms beneath the hill

Must shortly fade away.

And soon, too soon, the wintry hour

Of man's maturer age,
Will shake the soul with sorrow's power,

And stormy passions rage!

O Thou who giv'st us life and breath,

We seek Thy grace alone,
In childhood, manhood, age, and death,

To keep us still Thine own!

HEBER

HYMN.

GENTLE JESUS, meek and mild,
Look upon a little child;
Pity my simplicity,
Suffer me to come to Thee.

Fain I would to Thee be brought;
Gracious God forbid it not;
In the kingdom of Thy grace,
Give a little child a place.

Oh ! supply my every want;
Feed the young and tender plant;
Day and night my keeper be,
Every moment watch round me.

SUNDAY EVENING.

AGAIN we've seen the Sabbath-day

And heard of Jesus and of heaven; We thank Thee, Father, and we pray

That this day's sins may be forgiven. May all we heard and understood,

Be well remembered through the week, And help to make us wise and good,

More humble, diligent, and meek.

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