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Duties of the morning.

See the time for sleep has run:
Rise before or with the sun.
Lift thy hands, and humbly pray,
The Fountain of eternal day,
That his sacred Spirit may rest,
With quick’ning beams, upon thy breast ;
And kindly cleanse it all within,
From the dark blemishes of sin.
See the day, that dawns in air,
Brings along its toil and care.
Prepare to meet them in a mind,
That bows submissively resign’d;
That would to works appointed fall ;
That knows that God has order'd all,

And whether, with a small repast,
We break the sober morning fast ;
Or in our thoughts and houses, lay
The future methods of the day ;
Or early walk abroad to meet
Our business with industrious feet :
Whate'er we think, whate'er we do,
His glory still be kept in view,

0, Giver of eternal bliss,
Heav'nly Father, grant me this !
Grant it all, as well as me,
All whose hearts are fix'd on thee ;
Who revere thy Son above ;
Who thy sacred Spirit love !


Father's address to his children.

See the lark prunes his active wings,
Rises to heav'n, and soars, and sings !
His morning hymns, his mid-day lays,
Are one continued song of praise :
He speaks his Maker all he can,
And shames the silent tongue of man.
When the declining orb of light,
Reminds him of approaching night,
His warbling vespers swell his breast ;
And as he sings, he sinks to rest.

Shall birds instructive lessons teach,
And we be deaf to what they preach?
No, ye dear nestlings of my heart :
Go, act the wiser songster's part.
Spurn your warm bed at early dawn;
And with your God, begin the morn.
To him your grateful tribute pay,
Through ev'ry period of the day.
To him your ev’ning songs direct ;
His eye shall watch, his arm protect :
Though darkness reigns, he's with you still ;
Then sleep, my babes, and fear no ill.

Forgive me, Lord, for thy dear Son,
The ills that I this day have done;
That with the world, myself, and thee,
I, ere I sleep, at peace may be.

Teach me to live, that I may dread
The grave as little as my bed ;
Teach me to die, that so I may
Triumphant rise at the last day.

0! may my soul on Thee repose :
And may sweet sleep mine eyelids close ;
Sleep, that may me more lively make,
To serve my God, when I awake.

When in the night I sleepless lie,
My soul with heav'nly thoughts supply:
Let no ill dreams disturb my rest,
No pow'rs of darkness me molest.

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow;
Praise him, all creatures here below;
Praise him above, ye heav'nly host :
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost !


A Sunday hymn.

This is the day, the Lord of life

Ascended to the skies ;
My thoughts, pursue the lofty theme,

And to high Heav'n arise.

Let no vain cares divert my mind

From this celestial road;
Nor all the pleasures of the earth,

Detain my soul from God.

Think of the splendour of that place,

The joys that are on high ; Nor meanly rest contented here,

With worlds beneath the sky.

Heav’n is the birth-place of the saints,

To Heav'n their souls ascend; Th’ Almighty owns our favour'd race,

As Father and as Friend.

0! may these lovely titles prove

My comfort and defence,
When the sick bed shall be my lot,

And death shall call me hence.


Heavenly wisdom. How happy is the man, who hears

Instruction's warning voice; And who celestial Wisdom makes

His early, only choice !

For she has treasures greater far,

Than east or west unfold; And her reward is more secure,

Than is the gain of gold.

In her right hand, she holds to view

A length of happy years ;
And in her left, the prize of fame

And honour bright appears.
She guides the young, with innocence,

In pleasure's path to tread :
A crown of glory she bestows

Upon the hoary head.
According as her labours rise,

So her rewards increase :
Her ways are ways of pleasantness,

And all her paths are peace.


The example of Christ. Behold, where, in a mortal form,

Appears each grace divine : The virtues, all in Jesus met,

With mildest radiance shine.
The largest love of human kind

Inspir’d his holy breast;
In deeds of mercy, words of peace,

His kindness was express’d.
To spread the rays of heav'nly light;

To give the mourner joy,
To preach glad tidings to the poor,

Was his divine employ.
Lowly in heart, by all his friends

A friend and servant found;
He wash'd their feet, he wip'd their tears,

And heald each bleeding wound.

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