Puslapio vaizdai


"Look up," my child, and read the love
Of Him who dwells enthroned in light;
Who bids thee lift thy thoughts above

The things of earth, of sense, and sight.
"Look down," my child, and learn to tread
The narrow way that leads to bliss;
The Father's eye will see thee fed;
The fulness of the earth is His.

"Look in," my child, and bless the grace
That draws thee from the love of sin,
Which led thee to thy Father's face,

And made thine heaven on earth begin. "Look out," my child, for woes to heal,

For tears to dry, for souls to save; For hunger, that thy hand may deal

Thy bread, for sake of Him that gave. "Look back," my child, to that sad day, When Jesus groaned upon the tree, And His life to death a prey,


For thee, my child; my child, for thee. "Look forward" to that happy hour,

When He shall come with all His own;
Shall come in glory, light, and power,
And seat thee near Him on His throne.


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"You are old, Father William," the


young man

"The few locks that are left you are gray;

You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man; Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"In the days of my youth," Father William replied,

"I remember'd that youth would fly fast,



And abused not my health and my vigour at first, That I never might need them at last."

"You are old, Father William," the


young man

"And pleasures with youth pass away;

And yet you lament not the days that are gone; Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"In the days of my youth," Father William replied,

"I remember'd that youth would not last; I thought of the future, whatever I did, That I never might grieve for the past."

"You are old, Father William," the young man cried,

"And life must be hast'ning away;

You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death; Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"I am cheerful, young man," Father William replied,

"Let the cause thy attention engage;

In the days of my youth I remember'd my God, And He hath not forgotten my age."



LORD, look upon a little child,
By nature sinful, rude, and wild;
Oh! put Thy gracious hands on me,
And make me all I ought to be.

Make me Thy child, a child of God,
Wash'd in my Saviour's precious blood,
And my whole heart from sin set free,
A little vessel full of Thee.

A star of early dawn and bright,
Shining within Thy sacred light;
A beam of grace to all around,
A little spot of hallow'd ground.
Oh! Jesus, take me to Thy breast,
And bless me; then I shall be blest.
Both when I wake and when I sleep,
Thy little lamb in safety keep.


Look on the lilies, "how they grow,"
Consider, read them well;

Then tell me, Elsie, what they show
To thee, to me, to all below-

What is it that they tell?




say, ""Tis not the lily's lot
To grace our banks or fields,
It does not grow in every spot;"
Then bring me that forget-me-not-
Each the same lesson yields.

Look, Elsie, at its bright blue eye;
What is it there you see ?

The smile of Him who framed the sky;
Who, though He dwells unseen, on high,
Dwells here, my child, with thee.

Consider this highway-side flower;
On all our banks it grows;
Grateful for sunshine and for shower,
And passing well its little hour,
To thee its Maker shows.

It does not toil nor spin for dress,
Yet wears a robe of blue
Of more than royal comeliness,
Woven by hands that daily bless
With sunbeam, rain, and dew.
He says to thee, "Forget-me-not,
My lamb, whoe'er thou art;
Whatever is thy rank or lot,
Child of the mansion or the cot,
Give Me thy loving heart."


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