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GIVE AS YOU'D TAKE.

He ties them one by one,
And tells you all to run.

He cries, "Run, run, Dick, Lucy, and Peter, "And, remember, just so you served the Fig-eater!"

MRS. GILMAN.

GIVE AS YOU'D TAKE.

NURSERY SONGS OF SCOTLAND.

My bairnies dear, when you go out
With other bairns to play,
Take heed of everything you do,
Of every word you say;
From tricky, wee, mischievous loons
Keep back, my bairns, keep back;

And aye to all such usage give
As you would like to take.

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To twist the mouth and call ill names

Is surely very bad;

Then all such doings still avoid,

They'd make your mother sad.

To shield the weakly from the strong,

Be neither slow nor slack,

And aye to all such usage give,
As you would like to take.

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THE BIRD'S FUNERAL.

A kindly word, a soothing look,
Have ready aye for all;

We are one Maker's handiwork,
He made us
great and small
We're all the children of his care;
O, then for his dear sake

Be sure such usage still to give
As you would like to take.

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ALEXANDER RODGER.

THE BIRD'S FUNERAL.

HERE, in these rosy bowers,

Sleep, little bird! we crave
A spot beneath the flowers

To dig thy early grave.

So charming was thy singing!
Thou wast to us so dear,
Thy voice has ceased its ringing,
And we are weeping here.

Sweet May waked all her roses
Thy thrilling notes to hear;
And now with mourning posies
We strew thy silent bier.

SONGS FROM THE GERMAN.

MY FATHER.

MY FATHER.

WHO took me from my mother's arms,
And, smiling at her soft alarms,
Showed me the world, and nature's charms?

My father.

Who made me feel and understand
The wonders of the sea and land,
And mark through all the Maker's hand?
My father.

Who climbed with me the mountain height,
And watched my look of dread delight,
While rose the glorious orb of light?

My father.

Who, from each flower and verdant stalk,
Gathered a subject for our talk,
To fill the long, delightful walk?

My father.

Not on a poor worm would he tread,
Nor strike the little insect dead;
Who taught at once my heart and head?
My father.

Who taught my early mind to know
The God from whom all blessings flow,
Creator of all things below?

My father.

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MY MOTHER.

Soon, and before the mercy-seat,
Spirits made perfect, we shall meet!
Then with what transports shall I greet

MY MOTHER.

My father.

ANN TAYLOR.

WHO fed me from her gentle breast,
And hushed me in her arms to rest,
And on my cheek sweet kisses pressed?
My mother.

When sleep forsook my open eye,
Who was it sang sweet lullaby,
And rocked me that I should not cry?
My mother.

Who sat and watched my infant head,
When sleeping on my cradle bed,
And tears of sweet affection shed?
My mother.

When pain and sickness made me cry,
Who gazed upon my heavy eye,
And wept for fear that I should die ?

My mother.

MY MOTHER.

Who dressed my doll in clothes so gay,
And taught me pretty how to play,
And minded all I had to say?

My mother.

Who ran to help me when I fell,
And would some pretty story tell,
Or kiss the place to make it well?

My mother.

Who taught my infant lips to pray,
And love God's holy book and day,
And walk in wisdom's pleasant way?
My mother.

And can I ever cease to be
Affectionate and kind to thee,
Who was so very kind to me?

My mother.

Ah! no, the thought I cannot bear,
And if God please my life to spare,
I hope I shall reward thy care,

My mother.

When thou art feeble, old, and gray,
My healthy arms shall be thy stay,
And I will soothe thy pains away,

My mother.

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