If I meet with railing tongues, Why should I return them railing, Since I best revenge my wrongs By my patience never failing? When I hear them telling lies, What though I be low and mean, If I should be poor and sick, I shall meet, I hope, with pity, 'Since I love to help the weak, Though they 're neither fair nor witty. I'll not willingly offend, Nor be easily offended; What's amifs I'll ftrive to mend, And endure what can't be mended. May I be fo watchful ftill O'er my humours and my passion, As to speak 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. A SUMMER EVENING. HOW fine has the day been, how bright was the fun, How lovely and joyful the course that he run, Juft fuch is the chriftian: His course he begins, And melts into tears: Then he breaks out and fhines, But when he comes nearer to finish his race, Like a fine setting fun he looks richer in grace, And gives a fure hope at the end of his days Of rifing in brighter array. Some Some Copies of the following Hymn having got abroad already into feveral Hands, the Author has been perfuaded to permit it to appear in Fublic, at the End of these Songs for Children. A CRADLE HY M N. HUSH! my dear, lie ftill and slumber, Holy angels guard thy bed! Heavenly bleffings without number Sleep, my babe; thy food and raiment, All without thy care or payment, How much better thou 'rt attended Soft and easy is thy cradle: Coarfe and hard thy Saviour lay: Bleffed babe! what glorious features, Was Was there nothing but a manger Soft my child; I did not chide thee, "Tis thy Nurfe that fits befide thee, And her arms shall be thy guard. Yet to read the shameful 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, See the lovely babe a-dressing; Sooth'd and hufh'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. *Here you may ufe the words, Brother, Sifter, Neighbour, Friend, &c. B b 'Twas 'Twas to fave thee, child, from dying, May'ft thou live to know and fear him, I could give thee thousand kiffes, CON. |