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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 EM MET.

Emmets how little they are in our eyes!

We tread them to duft, and a troop of them dies
Without our regard 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 wisdom 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


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 against 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 are in bloom,

Let me think what will ferve me when fickness fhall come, And pray that my fins be forgiven:

Let me read in good books, and believe, and obey, That when death turns me out of this cottage of clay, may dwell in a palace in heaven.



VI. Good Refolutions.

I am now in days,

Nor can I tell what fhall befal me, 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 fhewing fcorn 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 should I return them railing, Since I beft revenge my wrongs

By my patience never failing?

When I hear them telling lies,
Talking foolish, curfing, 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 modelt, neat and clean,
And fubmit when they reprove me.

If I fhould be poor and fick,

I fhall 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 still

O'er my humours and my paffion,

As to speak and do no ill,

Though it should 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.


HOW fine has the day been, how bright was the fun,
How lovely and joyful the course that he run,
Though he rofe in a mist when his race he begun,
And there follow'd fome droppings of rain!
But now the fair traveller's come to the West,
His rays are all gold, and his beauties are beft;
He paints the sky gay as he finks to his rest,
And foretels a bright rifing again.

Juft fuch is the chriftian: His course he begins,
Like the fun in a mift, while he mourns for his fins,

And melts into tears: Then he breaks out and fhines,
And travels his heavenly way:

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 Copies of the following Hymn having got abroad already into feveral Hands, the Author has been perfuaded to permit it to appear in Public, at the End of thefe Songs for Children.



USH! my dear, lie ftill and flumber,
Holy angels guard thy bed !

Heavenly bleffings 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 easy 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?


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