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Oh! let me be thoughtful and prayerful to-day,
And not spend a minute in trifling or play ;
Remembering these seasons were graciously given
To teach me to seek, and prepare me for heaven.
In the house of my God, in His presence and fear,
When I worship to-day, may it all be sincere;
In the school when I learn, may I do it with care,
And be grateful to those who watch over me there.
Instruct me, my Saviour; a child though I be,
I am not too young to be noticed by Thee;
Renew all my heart, keep me firm in Thy ways:
I would love Thee, and serve Thee, and give Thee the
The watch is ticking, ticking,
Ticking my minutes away;
And minutes make up the hours,
And hours make up the day.
The clock is striking, striking,
The hours so loud and clear;
The hours make up the day,
And the days make up the year.
The bell is tolling, tolling,
For one whose day is gone;
To where time is known no longer,
That weary soul is gone.
And soon 't will toll for me,
And then my home will be
Where the watch ticks no more,
And the clock strikes no more, And there's no more time for me.
THE CHILD AND THE FLOWERS.
PRETTY little flowers, that blow
Where the grass is soft and low-
Daisies, white and tipped with red;
Violets, on your leafy bed;
Cowslips, bending on your stalk;
Primroses, beside the walk-
Who has made you fair and sweet,
Growing thus beneath my feet!
Surely He must loving be
Who made such tender things as ye.
Little children, would you know
Who has made us live and grow,
Who has given our pleasant smell,
Who has kept us all so well,
Who has given us beauty thus
Tho' no gardener cares for us ?
Listen, while I simply tell
Of Him “who doeth all things well.”
God created us at first,
Before the earth for sin was curst;
And every day our need supplies,
And guards us with His watchful eyes.
O, when your little hands ye spread
To pluck us from our lowly bed,
Well pleased our varied forms to spy,
Remember He is ever nigh;
And think, if thus His tender care
Has made the meanest flower so fair,
How surely He will keep and bless
The little children's helplessness.
CHISEL in hand stood a sculptor-boy,
With his marble block before him ;
And his face lit up, with a smile of joy,
As an angel-dream passed o'er him :
He carved the dream on that shapeless stone,
With many a sharp incision;
With heaven's own light the sculpture shone :
He had caught that angel-vision.
Sculptors of life are we, as we stand
With our souls, uncarved, before us,
Waiting the hour, when at God's command,
Our life-dream shall pass o'er us.
If we carve it then, on the yielding stone,
With many a sharp incision,
Its heavenly beauty shall be our own,
Our lives, that angel-vision.
that we must love Him;
Helpless as the lambs are we;
But He very kindly tells us,
That our Shepherd He will be.
Heavenly Shepherd, please to watch us,
Guard us both by night and day;
Pity show to little children,
Who like lambs too often stray.
We are always prone to wander,
Please to keep us from each snare;
Teach our infant hearts to praise Thee
For Thy kindness and Thy care.
They all have taken wing,
Away from frost and snow;
'Twas thus we heard them sing:
“Far through the sky we go,
To find another spring.
“ And He who dwells above,
Will guide us on our way,
Wherever we may rove,
Wherever we may stay ;
O praise Him for His love."