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Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot
angels arms bear beautiful bird blessed blest bright bring Christ Christian close clouds cross daily dead dear death dwell earth face fall Father fear flowers friends gently give given glad glorious glory grace green hand happy hath head hear heart heaven heavenly holy hour HYMN Jesus keep kind lambs land lead leave light little child little children live look Lord lowly mild morning Mourn never night o'er once pain pass peace play poor praise pray prayer rest round Saviour seek shining sinful sing sleep smiled Softly song soon sorrow soul speak Spirit Spring stars suffer sweet teach tear tell Thee Thine things Thou Thou art Thou hast thought trust turn unto voice wait weary Weep wind wonderful worship
Pāgina 38 - BRIGHTEST and best of the sons of the morning, Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid ; Star of the East, the horizon adorning, Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid.
Pāgina 2 - I wish that His hands had been placed on my head, That His arm had been thrown around me, And that I might have seen His kind look, when He said, " Let the little ones come unto me.
Pāgina 106 - With milk and honey blest ; Beneath thy contemplation Sink heart and voice opprest. I know not, oh ! I know not What joys await us there ; What radiancy of glory, "What bliss beyond compare.
Pāgina 24 - HOW doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour, And gather honey all the day From every opening flower...
Pāgina 119 - One by one the sands are flowing, One by one the moments fall; Some are coming, some are going; Do not strive to grasp them all. One by one thy duties wait thee, Let thy whole strength go to each, Let no future dreams elate thee, Learn thou first what these can teach.
Pāgina 171 - Prayer is the burden of a sigh ; The falling of a tear ; The upward glancing of an eye When none but God is near.
Pāgina 49 - THERE is a happy land, Far, far away ! Where saints in glory stand, Bright, bright as day. Oh, how they sweetly sing, Worthy is our Saviour King ; Loud let His praises ring Praise, praise for aye.
Pāgina 17 - I HEAR thee speak of the better land, Thou call'st its children a happy band ; Mother! oh, where is that radiant shore? Shall we not seek it, and weep no more? Is it where the flower of the orange blows, And the fire-flies glance through the myrtle boughs...