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Oft we fee a young beginner
Theft will not be always hidden,
Guard my heart, O God of heaven,
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
Yet, as wife as we are, if we went to their school,
Some leffons of wisdom might learn.
They don't wear their time out in fleeping or play,
And for winter they lay up their stores:
They manage their work in fuch regular forms,
And fo brought their food within doors.
But I have lefs fenfe than a poor creeping Ant,
When death or old age fhall ftare in my face,
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,
What though I be low and mean,
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.
A SUMMER EVENING.
HOW fine has the day been, how bright was the fun,
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 fetting fun he looks richer in grace,
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.
A CRADLE HY M N.
USH! my dear, lie ftill and flumber,
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,