My youth is but a summer's day; And though from flow'r to flow'r I rove, CRADLE HYMN. HUSH, my dear, lie still, and slumber; Holy angels guard thy bed! Heavenly blessings without number, Gently falling on thy head. Sleep, my babe; thy food and raiment, How much better thou'rt attended Soft and easy is thy cradle ;- When his birth-place was a stable, Blessed habe! what glorious features, Must he dwell with brutal creatures? Was there nothing but a manger, Soft, my child, I did notchide thee, "Tis thy mother sits beside thee, And her arms shall be thy guard. Yet, to read the shameful story, See the kindred shepherds round him, Telling wonders from the sky! Where they sought him, there they found him, See the lovely babe a-dressing,-- Lo! be slumbers in the manger, Where the horned oxen fed! Peace, my darling, here's no danger, "Twas to save thee, child, from dying, May'st thou live to know and fear him I could give thee thousand kisses, SPRING. WHEN green grass first begins to spring, And daffodils appear, When robins in the morning sing, Then pleasant spring is near. In pleasant spring, the gardens round, Then joyous is the cuckoo's sound. Summer comes next with sultry hours; The mower sweeping grass and flow'rs 'Tis Autumn, when the reaper goes With hoary frost, and rain and snow, Father of all, th' Almighty bade HAY TIME. THE grass and flowers which clothe the field, Fit emblem of our fallen state! Thus in the scripture glass, The young, the strong, the wise, the great, May see themselves but grass Oh! trust not to your fleeting breath, Nor call your time your own; And you who hitherto are spared, The grass when dead revive no more; But oh! if death should prove the door Lord, help us to obey thy call, That, from our sins set free, When like the grass our bodies fall, THE SOWER. YE sons of earth, prepare the plough, The sower is gone forth to sow, And scatters blessings round. |