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The cricket on the lady-bird
Makes a passing call,
Drops of crystal water
Furnish drink for all.

CHORUS: Wine's, &c.
The lily and the daisy,
Sun-burnt in the field,
Had no parasol of leaves
Their purity to shield;
So sunlight dropp'd its cloud-veil,
And rain began to fall,
Drops of crystal water
Soon reviv'd them all.

CHORUS: Wine's, &c.
Corn that gilded acres,
The clover, and the grass,
Cowslips that the children
Gather as they pass ;
The primrose in the green lane,
The berry on the sloe,
Drops of crystal water
Cause them all to grow,

CHORUS: Wine's, &c.
Drops of crystal water
Form the running rills,
Where the cress is growing
By the brambled hills ;
Oceans vast and boundless,
Rivers wide and far,
Drops of crystal water
Make them what they are.

CHORUS: Wine's, &c.

GOD'S WAYS ARE BEST. In the joys of careless infancy, Basked a young and lovely child; And its lustrous eyes told truthfully, That bliss its hours beguiled.

A lamb of

snowy whiteness, Formed the object of its love, And they gambolled in the brightness, Of the sunshine from above. But oh! the little fav’rite died, And the child could find no rest, Till smiling through the tears she tried To think “God's ways are best."

A mother looked with speechless joy
Upon her first-born child,
“God bless my own, my baby boy,"
She fondly said and smiled.
But oh! too soon that joy was o'er,
Called to resign his breath,
And soon his cherub features wore,
The still stern mark of death.
Say, could that mother meekly part,
From the child her spirit blest ;

yes, she owned with saddened heart, God's ways are always best.”

In lone churchyard as moonbeams shed
A cold pale light around;
One stricken mourner 'midst the dead,
Bent o'er a grass-grown mound.
Oh! grief sat strangely on that brow,
For youth's strong pulses beat,
And his manly spirit seem'd, to bow
At dark eyed sorrow's seat,
For 'neath that mossy turf was laid,
His bride in dreamless rest;
And whilst deep grief his spirit weighed,
He owned, “God's ways are best.”

'Twas evening-o'er a tiny form
A boyish creature knelt,
Oh, he was bounding as the fawn,
E’er grief his bosom felt.

But ah, his own twin sister lay
In death's embraces prest,
And as that loved one passed away,
He cried, “God's ways are best.”
Oh, may we thus more meekly bend,
Beneath the stern behest,
And with each sorrow calmly blend,
This truth, “God's ways are best.”


By Marah's stream of bitterness,

When Moses stood and cried,
Jehovah heard his fervent prayer,

And instant help supplied :
The prophet sought the precious tree

With prompt obedient feet;
'Twas cast into the fount, and made

The bitter waters sweet.
Whene'er affliction o'er thee sheds

Its influence malign,
Then, sufferer, be the prophet's prayer

And prompt obedience thine:
'Tis but a Marah's fount ordain'd

Thy faith in God to prove,
And prayer and resignation shall

Its bitterness remove.


He is a path, if any be misled ;
He is a robe, if any naked be;
If any chance to hunger, he is bread;

any be a bondman, he is free;
If any be but weak, how strong is he!

To dead men life he is, to sick men health;

To blind men sight, and to the needy wealth: A pleasure without loss, a treasure without stealth.

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