Preserve us, Lord, throughout the day,
And guide us by thy arm!
For they are safe, and only they,
Whom Thou preserv'st from harm.
: Oh may the beams of truth divine,
With clear convincing light,
In all our understandings shine,
And chase our mental night.
Let all our words, and all our ways,
Declare that we are thine
That so the light of truth and grace,
Before the world may shine.
Nor let us turn away from thee-
Dear Saviour, hold us fast,
Till, with immortal eyes, we see
Thy glorious face at last.
As when the weary traveller gains
The height of some o'erlooking hill,
His heart revives if cross the plains
He eyes his home, tho' distant still-
While he surveys the much-lov'd spot,
He slights the space that lies between ;
His past fatigues are now forgot,
Because his journey's end is seen :
Thus when the Christian pilgrim views,
By faith, his mansion in the skies,
The sight his fainting strength renews,
And wings his speed to reach the prize.
The thought of home his spirit cheers,
No more he grieves for troubles past;
Nor
any future trial fears,
So he may safe arrive at last.
'Tis there, he says, I am to dwell
With Jesus in the realms of day;
Then I shall bid my cares farewell,
And he shall wipe my tears away.
Jesus, on thee our hope depends,
To lead us on to thine abode :
Assur'd our home will make amends,
For all our toil while on the road.
How happy is the child that hears
Instruction's warning voice;
And who celestial Wisdom makes
His early, only choice!
For she has treasures greater far
Than east or west unfold;
And her reward is more secure
Than is the gain of gold.
She guides the young with innocence
In pleasant paths to tread ;
A crown of glory she bestows
Upon the hoary head.
According as her labours rise,
So her rewards increase;
Her ways are ways of pleasantness,
And all her paths are peace.
Helplessness of Infancy.
Safe sleeping on its mother's breast
The smiling babe appears;
Now sweetly sinking into rest,
Now wash'd in sudden tears:
Hush, hush, my little baby dear,
There's nobody to hurt you here.
Without the mother's tender care
The little thing must die ;
Its chubby hands too feeble are
One service to supply,-
And not a little does it know
What kind of world 'tis come into.
The lamb sports gaily on the grass
When scarcely born a day;
The foal, beside its mother ass,
Trots frolicing away:
And not a creature, tame or wild,
Is half so helpless as a child.
Full many a Summer's sun must glow,
And lighten up the skies,
Before its little limbs can grow
To any thing of size
And all the while the mother's eye
Must ev'ry little want supply.
Then surely when each little limb
Shall grow to healthy size,
And youth and manhood strengthen him
For toil and enterprise-
His mother's kindness is a debt
He never, never shall forget.
The Precious Gift of Health.
How gracious is my God!
If he denies me wealth,
He gives me still a greater gift-
The precious gift of health.
My health I would devote
To spread his praise abroad,
And would my infant pow'rs employ
To serve and please my God.
How many children are
On beds of grief and pain!
They hope and wait for health and ease, But hope and wait in vain.
Oh! may I ne'er forget
My God, so good and kind;
But serve him with my ev'ry pow'r
Of body and of mind.
Hosanna, with a cheerful sound,
To God's upholding hand;
Ten thousand snares attend us round,
And yet secure we stand.
That was a most amazing pow'r
That formed us with a word;
And ev'ry day, and ev'ry hour,
We lean upon the Lord.
The ev'ning rests our weary head,
His goodness guards the room;
We wake, and we admire the bed
That was not made our tomb.
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