How sweet to mark the artless throng,

To hear the ingenuous youth,

Raise with one voice the infant song,

And learn the word of truth.

“Delightful work his path to trace,

Who died to save our ruined race.”

How sweet to mark the artless throng,

And hear th’ ingenious youth

Raise with one voice, the infant song,

And learn the word of truth;

Delightful work! his path to trace,

Who died to save our ruined race.

“Now, Fancy, o’er life’s little span

Glances her busy eyes,

And sees them bear the name of man,

Industrious, good, and wise:”

Bids them each useful art employ,

Anticipates their future joy.

Now fancy, o’er life’s little span,

Glances her busy eyes.

And sees them bear the name of man—

Industrious, good, and wise:

Bids them each useful art employ,

Anticipates their future joy.

Some of the little ones may live

To adorn their country’s name;

“Indulgent heav’n by them may give

Fresh lustre to her fame.

Some may the blessed Gospel bear,

To distant lands, and plant it there.”

Some of the little ones may live

To adorn their country’s name;

Indulgent heaven by them may give

Fresh lustre to her fame.

Some may the blessed Gospel bear

To distant lands, and plant it there.

And many to this favour’d spot,

On God’s eventful day,

O happy, enviable lot,

Grateful shall point and say,

“There—there—to us the bliss was given,

To seek and find the path to heaven.”

And many to this honor’d spot,

On God’s eventful day,

(Oh happy enviable lot!)

Grateful shall point and say,

There,—there,—to us the bliss was giv’n,

To seek and find the path to heav’n!

“Oh, give me the friend, from whose warm, faithful breast,

The sigh breathes responsive to mine;

Where my cares may obtain the soft pillow of rest,

And my sorrows may love to recline.”

Oh! give me the friend, from whose warm faithful breast

The sigh breathes responsive to mine,

Where my cares may obtain the soft pillow of rest,

And my sorrows may love to recline.

Not the friend who my hours of pleasure will share,

But abide not the season of grief;

Who flies from the brow that is darken’d by care,

And the silence that looks for relief.

Not the friend who my hours of pleasure will share,

But abide not the season of grief;

Who flies from the brow that is darkened by care,

And the silence that looks for relief.

Not the friend who suspicious of change or of guile,

Would shrink from a confidence free;

Nor him who with fondness complacent can smile,

On the eye that looks coldly on me.

Not the friend who, suspicious of change or of guile,

Would shrink from a confidence free;

Nor him who with fondness complacent can smile

On the eye that looks coldly on me.

“As the mirror that’s just to each blemish or grace,

To myself will my image reflect;

But to none but myself will that image retrace,

Nor picture one absent defect.”

As the mirror that, just to each blemish or grace,

To myself will my image reflect,

But to none but myself will that image retrace,

Nor picture one absent defect.

To myself let my friend be a mirror as true,

Thus my faults from all others conceal,

Nor ever when absent those foibles renew,

“That from heav’n and from man he should veil.”

To my soul let my friend be a mirror as true,

Thus my faults from all others conceal;

Nor, absent, those failings or follies renew,

Which from Heaven and from man he should veil.

To prayer, to prayer; for the morning breaks,

And earth in her Maker’s smile awakes.

His light is on all, below and above;

The light of gladness, and life, and love;

Oh, then, on the breath of this early air,

Send upward the incense of grateful prayer.

To prayer, to prayer;—for the morning breaks,

And earth in her Maker’s smile awakes.

His light is on all below and above,—

The light of gladness, and life, and love.

Oh, then, on the breath of this early air

Send upward the incense of grateful prayer.

To prayer; for the glorious sun is gone,

And the gathering darkness of night comes on:

Like a curtain, from God’s kind hand it flows,

To shade the couch where his children repose;—

Then pray, while the watching stars are bright,

And give your last thoughts to the Guardian of night!

To prayer;—for the glorious sun is gone,

And the gathering darkness of night comes on;

Like a curtain from God’s kind hand it flows,

To shade the couch where his children impose.

Then kneel, while the watching stars are bright,

And give your last thoughts to the Guardian of night.

To prayer; for the day that God has blest,

Comes tranquilly on with its welcome rest;

It speaks of creation’s early bloom,

It speaks of the Prince who burst the tomb.

Then summon the spirit’s exalted powers,

And devote to Heaven the hallowed hours!

To prayer;—for the day that God has blest

Comes tranquilly on with its welcome rest.

It speaks of creation’s early bloom;

It speaks of the Prince who burst the tomb.

Then summon the spirit’s exalted powers,

And devote to Heaven the hallowed hours.