Puslapio vaizdai



Soft and easy is thy cradle;
Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay,
When His birthplace was a stable,
And His softest bed was hay.

Blessed Babe! what glorious features,
Spotless fair, divinely bright!

Must He dwell with brutal creatures ?
How could angels bear the sight ?

Was there nothing but a manger,
Cursed sinners could afford
To receive the Heavenly Stranger?
Did they thus affront the Lord?

Soft, my child, I did not chide thee,
Though my song might sound too hard;
'Tis thy mother sits beside thee,

And her arms shall be thy guard.

Yet to read the shameful story,

How the Jews abused their King-
How they served the Lord of glory,
Makes me angry while I sing.

See the kinder shepherds round Him,
Telling wonders from the sky;

Where they sought Him, there they found

With his virgin mother by.



See the lovely Babe a-dressing;
Lovely infant, how he smiled:
When he wept, the mother's blessing
Soothed and hush'd the holy Child.

Lo, He slumbers in the manger,
Where the horned oxen fed!
Peace, my darling, here's no danger,
There's no oxen near thy bed.

"Twas to save thee, child, from dying,
Save my dear from burning flame,
Bitter groans and endless crying,
That thy blest Redeemer came.

May'st thou live to know and fear Him,
Trust and love Him all thy days;
Then go dwell for ever near Him,
See His face and sing His praise.

I could give thee thousand kisses,
Hoping what I most desire;
Not a mother's fondest wishes
Can to greater joys aspire.




I'm not made for idle play,
Like the butterfly, all day;
Shameful would it be to grow
Like a dunce, and nothing know:
I must learn to read, and look
Often in God's holy book.

Busy I must be, and do
What is right and useful too;
What my parents, fond and kind,
Bid me, I will gladly mind;
Never cause them grief and pain,
Nor will disobey again.

But to God I still will pray,
"Take my wicked heart away;"
He from sin can make me free,
For the Saviour died for me.

Oh, how happy, life to spend
With the Saviour for




WITH all thy soul love God above, And as thyself thy neighbour love.


THE morning bright
With rosy light

Has waked me from my sleep;
Father, I own

Thy love alone

Thy little one doth keep.

All through the day,

I humbly pray,

Be Thou my guard and guide;

My sins forgive,

And let me live,

Blest Jesus, near Thy side.

Oh, make Thy rest Within my breast, Great Spirit of all grace;

Make me like Thee,

Then I shall be

Prepared to see Thy face.


I LOVE to do as I am bid;
I love to please mamma:
I love to get my lesson too,
And spell to my papa.

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When children want my pretty toys,
Or little picture-book,

I dearly love to give them up,
And see how pleased they look.
I love to please the Saviour too,
And mind the rule He's given;
For then I think that I shall go
To live with Him in heaven.


COME, children, listen to me now,
And you shall hear about the cow;
You'll find her useful, alive or dead,
Whether she's black, or white, or red.
When milk-maids milk her, morn and night,
She gives us milk so fresh and white;
And this, we little children think,
Is very nice for us to drink.

The curdled milk they press and squeeze,
And so they make it into cheese;

The cream they skim, and shake in churns,
And then it soon to butter turns.

And when she's dead, her flesh is good,

For beef is our true English food;
But though in health it makes us strong,
To eat too much is very wrong.

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