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PRAYER FOR OUR COUNTRY.

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PRAYER FOR OUR COUNTRY.

LORD! while for all mankind we pray,

Of every clime and coast,
O hear us for our native land,

The land we love the most!

O guard our shores from every foe,

With peace our borders bless,
With prosperous times our cities crown,

Our fields with plenteousness.

Unite us in the sacred love

Of knowledge, truth, and Thee; And let our hills and valleys shout

The songs of liberty.

Here may Religion shed her light

On days of rest and toil, And Piety and Virtue reign,

And bless our native soil.

LORD of the Nations! thus to Thee

Our country we commend;
Be Thou her Refuge and her Trust,
Her everlasting Friend.

UREFORD.

THE ORPHAN'S PRAYER.

My Father and my Friend, to Thee

I lift my weeping eye; For Thou canst wash away my tears,

And all my wants supply.

No tender mother's gentle smile,

Each morn awaits me now; No more the fond maternal kiss

Is pressed upon my brow.

No longer in her arms of love,

I lay me down to rest;
Secure and peaceful as the dove

Within its sheltered nest.

An orphan, in the cold wide world,

Dear LORD, I come to Thee; Thou Father of the fatherless,

My Friend and Father be.

O guide and guard me by Thy grace,

And make my heart Thy own, And fit me for that happy place

Where partings are unknown.

CREATION.

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CREATION.

COME, child, look upwards to the sky,

Behold the sun and moon, Th'expanse of stars that sparkle high,

To cheer the midnight gloom.

Come, child, and now behold the earth

In varied beauty stand :
The product view of six days' birth,

How wondrous and how grand !

The fields, the meadows, and the plain,

The little laughing hills,
The waters too, the mighty main,

The rivers and the rills.

Come then, behold them all, and say,

How came these things to be! That stand before, which ever way

I turn myself to see?'

'T was God who made the earth and sea,

To whom the angels bow; 'T was God who made both thee and me,

The God who sees us now.

JANE TAYLOR.

THE HOLY DOVE.

I knew a little sickly child,

The long, long summer's day,
When all the world was green and bright,

Alone in bed he lay;
There used to come a little dove,

Before his window small,
And sing to him with her sweet voice,

Out of the fir-tree tall.

And when the sick child better grew,

And he could crawl along,
Close to that window he would creep,

And listen to her song;
And he was gentle in his speech,

And quiet at his play,
He would not for the world have made

That sweet bird fly away.

There is a Holy Dove that sings

To every Christian child, That whispers to his little heart

A song as sweet and mild.
It is the HOLY SPIRIT of GOD,

That speaks his soul within,
That leads him on to all things good,

And holds him back from sin.

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THE FAVORITE HYMN OF EVE.

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And he must hear that still small voice,

Nor tempt it to depart,
The SPIRIT great and wonderful,

That whispers to his heart;
He must be pure, and good, and true,

Must strive, and watch, and pray,
For unresisted sin, at last,

Will drive that Dove away.

THE FAVORITE HYMN OF EVE.

How cheerful, along the gay mead,

The daisy and cowslip appear,
The flocks, as they carelessly feed,

Rejoice in the spring of the year.
The myrtle that shades the green bowers,

The herbage that springs from the sod,
Trees, plants, cooling fruits and sweet flowers,

All rise to the praise of their God.

Shall man, the great master of all,

The only insensible prove ? Forbid it, fair gratitude's call,

Forbid it, devotion and love!

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