He made the sun, and stars, and skies,
The pretty shrubs and flowers,
And all the birds and butterflies
That flutter thro' the bowers.
He keeps them underneath his wings,
And there they safely rest;
Yet tho' they're bright and lovely things,
He loves us far the best.
For when the birds and flowers die,
Their little life is past;
But we shall live with God on high,
Our lives will always last.
Then happily I'll lie and sleep
Within my little nest;
For well I know that he will keep
His children while they rest.
Little children, never give
Pain to things that feel and live.
Let the gentle robin come
For the crumbs you save at home.
As his meat you throw along
He'll repay you with a song.
Never hurt the timid hare,
Peeping from her green grass lair;
Let her come and sport and play
On the lawn at close of day.
The little lark goes soaring high
To the bright windows of the sky;
Singing as if 'twere always spring,
And fluttering on an untired wing;
Oh! let him sing his happy song,
Nor do these gentle creatures wrong.
Busy, curious, thirsty fly,
Drink with me, and drink as I;
Freely welcome to my cup,
Couldst thou sip and sip it up.
Make the most of life you may,
Life is short and wears away.
WHO TAUGHT THEM?
Who taught the bird to build her nest
Of softest wool, and hay, and moss;
Who taught her how to weave it best,
And lay the tiny twigs across?
Who taught the busy bee to fly,
Amongst the sweetest herbs and flowers,
And lay her store of honey by,
Providing food for winter hours?
Who taught the little ant the way,
Her narrow cell so well to bore,
And through the pleasant summer day,
To gather up her winter store?
'Twas God who taught them all the way,
And gave these little creatures skill;
And teaches children when they pray,
To know and do his heavenly will.
THE BUTTERFLY.
The pretty little butterfly
By the Great God was made;
And spots and streaks of various dye
Upon its wings are laid.
He made those wings and it can go
Far, far above my head;
And he has taught it how to know
On what it may be fed.
Then surely I could never dare
To hurt these creatures small,
Since little children are his care
Who made and loves us all.
Yes, God is love, or why should we
Live on this pretty earth,
Where everything around we see
Rejoicing in its birth?
The butterfly with shining wings,
That gaily mounts above,
little bird that sings,
Tell us that God is love.
THE LITTLE BOY'S GOOD NIGHT.'
The sun is hidden from our sight,
The birds are sleeping sound;
'Tis time to say to all Good night,'
And give a kiss all round.
Good night, my father, mother dear,
Now kiss your little son;
Good night, my friends, both far and near,
Good night to every one.
Good night, ye merry, merry birds,
Sleep well till morning light;
Perhaps if you could sing in words,
You would have said,Good night.'
To all my pretty flowers, Good night,
Like me you go to sleep;
And all the stars that shine so bright,
O'er you their watches keep.
The moon is lighting up the skies,
The stars are sparkling there;
'Tis time to shut our weary eyes,
And say our evening prayer.
MORNING HYMN.
Almighty God! by thy great power,
I hail again the morning hour;
How fair the green fields meet my eyes,
How sweet the birds sing in the skies,
How fresh appear the hills and trees,
And oh! how pure the morning breeze!
I bless thy love in all I see,
For were not these things made for me?
And was it not to meet my sight
Was hung aloft that globe of light?
Nor mine alone-for thou hast given
Thy good to all beneath the heaven.
And I rejoice that others share
The gift, the blessing, and the prayer-
Then tho' a little child I be,
Yet may I bend myself to thee,
And join my infant voice to raise
A simple hymn of grateful praise.
SONG AFTER LABOUR.
Labours strong and merry children,
Comrades of the rising sun,
Let us sing some songs together,
Now our toil is done.
No desponding, no repining!
Leisure must by toil be bought,
Never yet was good accomplished,
Without hand and thought.
Even God's all holy labour
Framed the air, the stars, the sun, Built our Earth on deep foundations,
And-the World was won.
CHILD'S EVENING HYMN.
Ere on my bed my limbs I lay,
God grant me grace my prayers to say;
O God! preserve my mother dear
In strength and health for many a year;
And O preserve my father too,
And may I pay him reverence due;
And may I my best thoughts employ
To be my parents' hope and joy;
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