SONG XXV.

A MORNING SONG.

My God, who makes the fun to know
His proper hour to rife,
And to give light to all below,

Doth fend him round the fkies.

When from the chambers of the east
His morning race begins,
He never tires, nor ftops to rest;
But round the world he shines.

So, like the fun, would I fulfil

The bufinefs of the day;
Begin my work betimes, and ftill
March on my heavenly way.

Give me, O Lord, thy early grace,
Nor let my foul complain
That the young morning of my days
Has all been spent in vain.

AND now another day is gone,
I'll fing my Maker's praife;
My comforts every hour make known
His providence and grace.

But how my childhood runs to waste!
My fins, how great their fum!
Lord, give me pardon for the past,
And strength for days to come.
I lay my body down to fleep;

Let angels guard my head,

And through the hours of darkness keep
Their watch around my bed.
With cheerful heart I 'clofe my eyes,
Since thou wilt not remove;
And in the morning let me rife
Rejoicing in thy love.

SONG XXVII.

FOR THE LORD'S DAY MORNING.

THIS is the day when Chrift arose
So early from the dead;
Why should I keep my eyelids clos'd,
And wafte my hours in bed?
This is the day when Jefus broke
The power of death and hell;
And fhall I still wear Satan's yoke,
And love my fins fo well?
To-day with pleasure Chriftians meet,
To pray and hear the word:
And I would go with cheerful feet
To learn thy will, O Lord.

I'll leave my fport to read and pray,
And fo prepare for heaven:
O may I love this bleffed day
The beft of all the feven!

SONG XXVIII.

FOR THE LORD'S-DAY EVENING,
LORD, how delightful 'tis to fee
A whole affembly worship thee!
At once they fing, at once they pray;
They hear of heaven, and learn the way.

I have been there, and ftill would go :
"Tis like a little heaven below:
Not all my pleasure and my play
Shall tempt me to forget this day.
O write upon my memory, Lord,
The texts and doctrines of thy word;
That I may break thy laws no more,
But love thee better than before.
With thoughts of Chrift and things divine
Fill up this foolish heart of mine;
That, hoping pardon through his blood,
I may lie down and wake with God.

Ori of my Book of HYMNS I bave here added the
Hefanna, and Glory to the Father, &c. to be fung
at the End of any of thefe Songs, according to the
Direction of Parents or Governors.

THE HOSANNA; OR SALVATION
ASCRIBED TO CHRIST.

LONG METRE.

HosaNNA to king David's Son,
Who reigns on a fuperior throne:
We blefs the Prince of heavenly birth,
Who brings falvation down on earth.

Let every nation, every age,

this delightful work engage; Cld men and babes in Sion fing The growing glories of her king.

COMMON METRE.

HOSANNA to the Prince of Grace;
Sion, behold thy king!
Proclaim the Son of David's race,
And teach the babes to fing.
Hofanna to th' eternal Word,

Who from the Father came;
Afcribe falvation to the Lord,
With bleffings on his name.

SHORT METRE.

1

common appearances of nature, from all the occurrences of civil life, both in city and country (which would alfo afford matter for other divine fongs). Here the language and measures should be eafy, and flowing with cheerfulnefs, with or without the folemnities of religion, or the facred names of God and holy things; that children might find delight and profit together.

This would be one effectual way to deliver them from thofe idle, wanton, or profane fongs, which give fo early an ill taint to the fancy and memory; and become the feeds of future vices,

1. THE SLUGGARD.

'Tis the voice of the fluggard; I heard him com-
plain,
[again."
"You have wak'd me too foon, I muft lumber
As the door on its hinges, fo he on his bed, [head.
Turns his fides and his fhoulders and his heavy
"A little more fleep and a little more flumber;"
Thus he waftes half his days, and his hours with-
out number;

And when he gets up, he fits folding his hands,
Or walks about fauntering, or trifling he stands.
I pafs'd by his garden, and faw the wild brier,
The thorn and the thistle grow broader and higher
The clothes that hang on him are turning to rags:
And his money ftill waftes till he ftarves or he begs.
I made him a vifit, ftill hoping to find

II. INNOCENT PLAY.

ABROAD in the meadows to fee the young lambs Run fporting about by the fide of their dams, With fleeces fo clean and fo white;

Or a neft of young doves in a large open cage,
When they play all in love, without anger or rage,
How much may we learn from the fight!

If we had been ducks, we might dabble in mud;
Or dogs, we might play till it ended in blood;
So foul and fo fierce are their natures:
But Thomas and William, and fuch pretty names,
Should be cleanly and harmless as doves or as lambs,
Thofe lovely fweet innocent creatures.
Not a thing that we do, nor a word that we fay,
Should hinder another in jefting or play;
For he's ftill in earneft that's hurt;
How rude are the boys that throw pebbles and mire!
There's none but a madman will fling about fire,
And tell you,
"Tis all but in fport."

III. THE ROSE.

How fair is the rofe! what a beautiful flower
The glory of April and May!
A a j

IV. THE THIEF.

WHY fhould I deprive my neighbour

Of his goods against his will? Hands were made for honeft labour, Not to plunder or to steal. 'Tis a foolish felf-deceiving

By fuch tricks to hope for gain : All that's ever got by thieving Turns to forrow, thame, and pain. Have not Eve and Adam taught us Their fad profit to compute? To what difmal ftate they brought us When they ftole forbidden fruit? Oft we fee a young beginner Practife little pilfering ways, Till grown up a harden'd finner;

Then the gallows ends his days. Theft will not be always hidden, Though we fancy none can spy: When we take a thing forbidden,

God beholds it with his eye.
Guard my heart, O God of heaven,
Left I covet what's not mine:

Left I fteal what is not given,
Guard my heart and hands from fin.

V. THE ANT, OR EMMET.

THESE Emmets how little they are in our eyes? We tread them to duft, and a troop of them dies Without our repard or concern:

Yet, as wife as we are, if we went to their school, There's many a fluggard and many a fool,

Some leffons of wifdom might learn. They don't wear their time out in fleeping or play, But gather up corn in a fun-fhiny day,

And for winter they lay up their stores: They manage their work in fuch regular forms, One would think they forefaw all the frofts and the ftorms,

And fo brought their food within doors. But I have lefs fenfe than a poor creeping ant, If I take not due care for the things I fhall want, Nor provide againft dangers in time. When death or old age fhall ftare in my face, What a wretch fhall I be in the end of my days, If I trifle away all their prime!

Now, now, while my ftrength and my youth tra in bloom,

Let me think what will ferve me when fickness Chall
And pray that my fins be forgiven. (come,
Let me read in good books, and believe, and obey,
That when death turns me out of this cotta
I may dwell in a palace in heaven. (lay

VI. GOOD RESOLUTIONS,
THOUGH I am now in younger days,
Nor can I tell what fhall befal me.
I'll prepare for every place,
Where my growing age fhall call me,
Should I be rich or great,

Others fhall partake my goodness;
I'll fupply the poor with meat,
Never showing scorn or rudeness.
Where I fee the blind or lame,

Deaf or dumb, I'll kindly treat them;
I deferve to feel the fame

If I mock, or hurt, or cheat them.
If I meet with railing tongues,
Why fhould I return them railing,
Since I bcft revenge my wrongs,

By my patience never failing?
When I hear them telling lies,

Talking foolish, curung, fwearing;
First I'll try to make them wife,

Or I'll foon go out of hearing.
What though I be low and mean,
I'll engage the rich to love me,
While I'm modeft, neat and clean,
And fubmit when they reprove me.

If I fhould be poor and ficks,

I fhall meet, I hope, with pity, Since I love to help the weak,

Though they're neitper fair nor witty, I'll not willingly offend,

Nor be easily offended;

What's amifs I'll Grive to mend,

And endure what can't be mended.

May I be fo watchful still

O'er my humours and my paffion,
As to fpeak and do no ill,

Though it fhould be all the fashion:
Wicked fashions lead to hell;
Ne'er may I be found complying;
But in life behave fo well,
Not to be afraid of dying.

of

A SUMMER EVENING. How fine has the day been, how bright was the fun, How lovely and joyful the courfe that he rnn, Though he rofe in a mift when his race he begur,

And there follow'd fome droppings of rain! But now the fair traveller's come to the weft, His rays are all gold, and his beauties are beft; He paints the ky gay as he finks to his reft,

And foretells a bright rifing again. Juft fuch is the Chriftian: His courfe he begins, Like the fun in a mift, while he mourns for his fine, And melts into tears: Then he breaks out and And travels his heavenly way:

[hine

But when he comes nearer to finish his race, Like a fine fetting fun he looks richer in grace, And gives a fure hope at the end of his days

Of rifing in brighter array.

Some Capies of the following Hymn baving got abroad already into feveral bands, the Author has been per seaded to permit it to appear in public, at the end of thefe Songs for Children.

A CRADLE HYMN.
Husa! my dear, lie ftill and flumber,
Holy angels guard thy bed!
Heavenly bleflings 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 supply'd.
How much better thou'rt attended
Than the Son of God could be,
When from heaven he defcended,
And became a child like thee?
Soft and eafy is thy cradle :

Coarfe and hard thy Saviour lay:
When his birth-place was a stable,
And his fofteft bed was hay.
Bleffed babe! what glorious features,
Spotlefs fair, divinely bright!
Muft he dwell with brutal creatures!
How could angels bear the fight?
Was there nothing but a manger
Carfed finners could afford,
To receive the heavenly ftranger!
Did they thus affront their Lord?

Boft, my child; I did not chide thee,
Though my fong might found too hard;

"Tis thy

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And her arms fhall be thy guard.
Yet to read the fhameful story,
How the Jews abus'd their King,
How they ferv'd the Lord of glory,
Makes me angry while I fing.

See the kinder fhepherds round him,
Telling wonders from the sky!
Where they fought him, there they found him,
With his virgin mother by.

See the lovely babe a-dreffing;
Lovely infant, how he fmil'd!
When he wept, the mother's bleffing
Sooth'd and huih'd the holy child.
Lo, he flumbers in his manger,
Where the horned oxen fed;
Peace, my darling, here's no danger,
Here's no ox a-near thy bed.

'Twas to fave thee, child, from dying,
Save my dear from burning flame,
Bitter groans and endless crying,
That thy bleft Redeemer came.

May'ft thou live to know and fear him,
Truft and love him all thy days;
Then go
dwell for ever near him,
See his face, and fing his praise !

I could give thee thousand kiffes,
Hoping what I most defire;
Not a mother's fondeft wishes
Can to greater joys aspire.