Divine and moral songs, attempted in easy language, for the use of children

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Thomas Richardson, Friar-Gate, 1829 - 69 pāgines
 

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Pāgina 66 - Hush! my dear, lie still, and slumber, Holy angels guard thy bed! Heavenly blessings without number Gently falling on thy head. Sleep, my babe; thy food and raiment, House and home, thy friends provide; All without thy care or payment, * All thy wants are well supplied. How much better thou'rt attended Than the son of God could be, When from Heaven He descended, And became a child like thee. Soft and easy is thy cradle; Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay: When His birthplace was a stable, And His softest...
Pāgina 34 - tis a shameful sight, When children of one family Fall out, and chide, and fight.
Pāgina 68 - PITY the sorrows of a poor old man, Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door. Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span, Oh ! give relief and heaven will bless your store.
Pāgina 27 - Twill save us from a thousand snares To mind religion young; Grace will preserve our following years, And make our virtue strong.
Pāgina 38 - How doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour, And gather honey all the day From every opening flower!
Pāgina 16 - WHENE'ER I take my walks abroad, How many poor I see ! What shall I render to my God For all his gifts to me ? Not more than others I deserve, Yet God hath given me more ; For I have food while others starve, Or beg from door to door.
Pāgina 65 - Just such is the Christian ; his course he begins, Like the sun in a mist, when he mourns for his sins, And melts into tears ; then he breaks out and shines, And travels his heavenly way : But when he comes nearer to finish his race, Like a fine setting sun, he looks richer in grace, And gives a sure hope, at the end of his days, Of rising in brighter array.
Pāgina 65 - HUSH ! my dear, lie still and slumber, Holy angels guard thy bed ! Heavenly blessings without number Gently falling on thy head. Sleep, my babe, thy food and raiment, House and home, thy friends provide ; All without thy care or payment, All thy wants are well supplied.
Pāgina 38 - In works of labour or of skill I would be busy too: For Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do.
Pāgina 13 - I sing the goodness of the Lord, That filled the earth with food ; He formed the creatures with His word, And then pronounced them good.

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