What points me to the Lamb of God,
To trust in his atoning blood,

What warns me to abstain from sin,
And tends to make me pure within?
The Bible.

What teaches to relieve the poor,
And med'cine for the sick procure,
What teaches me to love my foe,
And acts of kindness to him show?
The Bible.

What tells me of that state of bliss,
Where I shall never do amiss,

What can support my drooping head,
When I am laid on my death-bed?
The Bible.

POOR CHILDREN.

Tune, "Holborn."

When I walk in the fields, or walk in the street,
How many poor children I often do meet,
Without shoes or stockings to cover their feet.
Without shoes, &c.

Their clothes are all ragged, and let in the cold;
And they have but little to eat, I am told:
Oh dear! 'tis a pitiful sight to behold.

Oh dear! &c.

And then, what is worse, very often they are
Quite naughty and wicked; I never can bear
To hear how they quarrel together and swear.
To hear how, &c.

For often they use naughty words in their play;
And I might have been as wicked as they,
Had I not been taught better, I've heard mother say.
Had I not, &c.

Oh, how very thankful I always should be
That I have kind parents to watch over me,
Who teach me from wickedness ever to flee!
Who teach me, &c.

And, as mother tells me, I certainly should
Mind all that is taught me, and be very good,
For if those poor children knew better, they would.
For if those, &c.

ADVANTAGES OF EARLY RELIGION.
Tune, "Cambridge."

Happy the child whose tender years
Receive instruction well:

Who hates the sinner's path, and fears
The road that leads to Hell,

When we devote our youth to God,
'Tis pleasing in his eyes;

A flow'r, when offer'd in the bud,
Is no vain sacrifice.

'Tis easier work, if we begin

To fear the Lord betimes;
While sinners that grow old in sin,
Are hardened in their crimes.

'Twill save us from a thousand snares,
To mind religion young;

Grace will preserve our following years,
And make our virtue strong.

To Thee, Almighty God, to Thee,
Our childhood we resign;

'Twill please us to look back and see

That our whole lives were thine.

Let the sweet work of

prayer

and praise

Employ my youngest breath:

Thus I'm prepar'd for longer days,
Or fit for early death.

CHILDREN'S HYMN OF GRATITUDE.
Tune, "Weber.”

Oh, gracious Saviour, thou hast said,
"Let little children come to me;"
And blessed be the friends who led
Our infant hearts to follow thee!
Accept, O Lord, our simple praise,

We wish this goodness to proclaim;
Though feeble is the voice we raise,
In honour of thy glorious name.
But when these friends of infancy,
We join in happy worlds above,
Our song shall be more sweet, more high,
Inspired by endless joy and love!

CHILDREN'S HYMN OF GRATITUDE.
Tune, "Manly Heart."

To God our praises first belong,
Whose mercy like a river flows;
His mercy claims our sweetest song,
His mercy day by day he shows.

We praise the Lord that we are brought
In tender years to learn his word,
And from that word of life are taught,
Sin's path to shun, and fear the Lord.

As ev'ry good from God descends,
The author and the source of grace,
May grace and peace to all our friends
Be multiplied and still increase.

O may success their labours crown,
And God reward their ev'ry care;
While we with thanks their kindness own,
And for them lisp our daily prayer.

CHILDREN'S HYMN OF GRATITUDE.
Tune, "Carey."

We thank the Lord who brought us here,
To learn betimes to pray and praise;
To learn his holy name to fear,

And think of his most holy ways.
We might have spent this happy time
In sloth and ignorance abroad;
Or practised ev'ry youthful crime,

Like those that think not of the Lord.
But, oh! how great his love has been,
What kind instruction has he given;
And taught us early to begin

That blessed path that leads to heav'n.
Oh! is there one of us who dare

To turn from wisdom's pleasant way?
The thought is what we cannot bear ;
We humbly hope we never may.
We hope, because the Saviour died;
We hope, because he lives above;

And those shall never turn aside,

Who seek his grace and trust his love.

CHILDREN'S HYMN OF GRATITUDE. Tune, Shirland."

While many of our race

Are left to go astray,

Far from the blissful paths of peace,

Nor ever hear the way;

How happy is our lot,

Who live on Britain's isle!

Which is of heav'n the favour'd spot,
Where countless blessings smile.

No idol gods we own,

Nor blindly bow the knee;
Nor pray to senseless wood or stone,
That cannot hear or see.

The God whom we adore,

Fills earth, and air, and skies;
Surveys the whole creation o'er,
And all our thoughts espies.

Since British children are

So highly bless'd of Heav'n,
Oh let it be our constant care,
To prize the mercies giv'n.

SCHOOL AND BIRDS' NESTING.

Tune, "Mozart."

"I shan't learn my lesson," a wicked boy said, To another that stood by his side;

"I hate to be kept in the school till one's dead; Let's go to the grove, and get birds' nests instead; The young ones and eggs we'll divide."

"Oh no!" said the other; " that never will do! You surely don't mean what you say?

Our Mistress, how griev'd would she be, if she knew; Oh she would be so angry,—our parents would too, Who told us be sure not to play.'

"Besides 'tis so cruel; so come off with me,
We shall just get in time for the school."
"Not I," he replied, " for what fun will there be,
In reading and spelling or singing," quoth he,
"I'm not going to be such a fool."

So he went with some more, and with mischief and row,
Over hedges and ditches they got;

But in seeking a nest, upon a high bough,
He slipp'd, and fell headlong, I cannot tell how,
But was carried half dead from the spot.

But no such disaster the other befel,

(From sin all our troubles arise,)

Commendation he earn'd; so his schoolfellows tell ;
And 'tis said, next reward day, he's doing so well,
He'll stand a good chance for a Prize.

THE REWARD BOOK.

Tune," Mozart."

Returning from school, little Harry one day
Was seen most intently to look,

With a smile on his face, each step of the way,
As he turn'd o'er a neat little book.

His pace being slower than usual by far,

His schoolfellows round him were seen;

Who were eager to know what book he'd got there,
And who the kind giver had been.

"A present it is, from our Mistress," he said;
"And if you'll be still and attend,

I soon will convince you from what I shall read,
That good boys will ne'er want a friend."

The title and some of the book he made known,
Then pleasure was seen in their look,
For as each boy in turn the present was shown,
They saw it was Watts's Hymn Book.

THE FIELD DAISY.

Tune," Weber."

I'm a pretty little thing,

Always coming with the Spring,
In the meadows green I'm found,
Peeping just above the ground;

And my stalk is cover'd flat,
With a white and yellow hat.
Little children when you pass,
Lightly o'er the tender grass,
Skip about, but do not tread
On my meek and healthy head;
For I always seem to say,
"Surely Winter's gone away."

THE LILIES OF THE FIELD.

Tune, "Shirland."

The lilies of the field,

That quickly fade away,

May well to us a lesson yield,

Who die as soon as they.

That pretty blossom see,
Decaying on the walk;

A storm came sweeping o'er the tree,

And broke its feeble stalk.

Just like an early rose,

I've seen an infant bloom;

But Death, perhaps, before it blows,

Will lay it in the tomb.

Then let us think on death,

Though we are young and gay;
For God, who gave our life and breath,
Can take them soon away.

THE ROSE.

Tune, "Mozart."

How fair is the Rose! what a beautiful flow'r !

The glory of April and May!

But the leaves are beginning to fade in an hour,
And they wither and die in a day.

Yet the Rose has one powerful virtue to boast,

Above all the flow'rs of the field;

When its leaves are all dead, and fine colours are lost,
Still how sweet a perfume it will yield!

So frail is the youth and the beauty of men,
Tho' they bloom and look gay like the Rose :
But all our fond care to preserve them is vain;
Time kills them as fast as he goes.