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النشر الإلكتروني

The LORD, who such wonders could raise,

And still can destroy with a nod, My lips shall incessantly praise,

My soul shall be wrapped in my God!


'Twas the hour of prayer, and the farmer stood,

With a thankful heart and a lowly mind, And prayed to the Author of every good,

That the Father of All would be very kind, And bless his creatures with raiment and food; That the blessing each day might be renewed; That every want might find relief, And plenty for hunger, joy or grief, Be measured out by the merciful One, To all who suffered beneath the sun.

The prayer concluded, the godly man

Went forth in peace to inspect his farm; And by his side delighted ran,

Glowing with every healthful charm, His little son, a sprightly boy, Whose home was love, and whose life was joy ; And they rambled over the golden fields, And the father said, “ The harvest yields



A plentiful crop, my son, this year,
My barns are too small for the grain, I fear.”

And they wandered on through row upon row

Of plumy sheaves, and at length the child,
With earnest look and a rosy glow

On his shining cheek, looked up and smiled,
And said, “My father, do you not pray
For the poor and needy, day by day,
That God, the good, would the hungry feed ?”
“I do, my son.” “Well, I think as you plead ”-

His eye waxed bright, for his soul shone through it“That God, if he had your wheat, would do it.”



AROUND God's glorious throne above,

The happy angels stand,
And ever praise the God they love,

And fly at his command.

Their faces, like the sun, are bright,

And sweetest smiles they wear,
They never sleep—there is no night,

Nor need of candle there.

But though the angels live so high,

They love us men below; And hope to see us in the sky,

In garments white as snow.

And when a dying infant lies

Upon its mother's breast, The angels watch it while it dies,

And take its soul to rest.


God intrusts to all

Talents few or many ;
None so young or small

That they have not any.

Though the great and wise

Have a greater number,
Yet my one I prize,

And it must not slumber.

God will surely ask,

Ere I enter heaven,
Have I done the task

Which to me was given?



Little drops of rain

Bring the springing flowers,
And I may attain

Much by little powers.


How many poor indigent children I see,
Who want all the comforts bestowed upon me!
But though I'm preserved from such want and distress,
I'm quite as unworthy of all I possess.

While I am partaking a plentiful meal,
How many the cravings of appetite feel!
Poor children, as young and as helpless as I,
Who yet have no money their wants to supply.

If I was so destitute, friendless, and poor,
How could I such hardships and suffering endure !
Then let me be thankful, and humbly adore
My God, who has graciously given me more.

And since I with so many comforts am blest,
May it be my delight to relieve the distrest ;
For God has declared, and his promise is sure,
That blessed are they who consider the poor.



Up and doing, little Christian,

Up and doing while 't is day ;
Do the work the Master gives you,

Do not loiter by the way;
For we all have work before us,

You, dear child, as well as I:
Let us seek to learn our duty,

And perform it cheerfully.

Up and doing, little Christian,

Gentle be, and ever kind;
Helpful to thy loving mother,

E’en her slightest wishes mind :
Let the little children love you

For your care, and harmless play;
And the feeble and more wilful,

Help them by your kindly way.


How sweet is the Sabbath, the morning of rest;
The day of the week I surely love best;
The morning my Saviour arose from the tomb,
And took from the grave all its terror and gloom.

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