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My youth is but a summer's day;
A store of learning by ;
Nor be a butterfly.
Hush, my dear, lie still, and slumber;
Holy angels guard thy bed !
Gently falling on thy head.
Sleep, my babe; thy food and raiment,
House and home, thy friends provide ; And without thy care or payment,
All thy wants are well supplied,
How much better thou'rt attended
Than the Son of God could be,
And became a child like thee,
Soft and easy is thy cradle ;-
Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay,
And his goftest bed was hay.
Blessed habe! 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,
Did they thus affront the Lord ?
Soft, my child, I did notchide 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 abus'd their King; How they serv'd the Lord of Glory,
Makes me angry while I sing.
See the kindred shepherds round him,
Telling wonders from the sky! Where they sought him, there they found him,
With his Virgin-Mother by.
See the lovely habe a-dressing,-
Lovely infant, how be smil'd! When he wept the mother's blessing
Sooth'd and bush'd the holy child.
Lol be slumbers in the manger,
Where the horned oxen fed !
Peace, my darling, here's no danger,
There's no ox a-bear thy bed.
'Twas to save thee, child, from dying,
Save my dear from burning flame,
Tbat tby blest Redeemer came.
May'st thou live to know and fear him
Trust and love him all thy days;
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.
When green grass first begins to spring,
And daffodils appear,
Then pleasant spring is near.
pleasant spring, the gardens round, With blossoms are all gay ; Then joyous is the cuckoo's sound.
For Winter's far away.
Summer comes next with sultry hours ;
When in the field is seen ;
Before him on the green.
'Tis Autumn, when the reaper goes
To bind the yellow corn,
And red haws on the thorn,
With hoary frost, and rain and snow,
Dark Winter follows near,
« Record the rolling year."
Father of all, th' Almighty bade
The Spring's sweet blossoms rise ; The Summer's fruit his goodness made, Whilst bounteous Autumn by his aid
The Winter food supplies.
The grass and flowers which clothe the field,
And look so green and gay ;
And fall and fade away.
Thus in the scripture glass,
The young, the strong, the wise, the great,
May see themselves but grass
Nor call your time your own ;
Is mowing thousands down. And you who hitherto are spared,
Must shortly yield your lives ; Your wisdom is to be prepar'd,
Before the stroke arrives.
The grass when dead revive no more;
You die to live again ;
To everlasting pain !
Lord, help us to obey thy call,
That, from our sins set free, When like the grass our bodies fall,
Our souls may spring to thee.
YE sons of earth, prepare the plough,
Break up your fallow ground: The sower is gone forth to sow,
And scatters blessings round.