SONGS FOR THE

The time will come when thou wilt miss
A father’s and a mother’s kiss ;
And then, my child, perchance you ‘Il see
Some who in prayer ne’er bend the knee :
From such examples turn away,

And ne'er, my child, forget to pray.

Child’s Book of Poetry.

  
     
   
    
  
  
   
   
   
   
   
 
    
   
   
 
    
   
   
    
    
 

THE BUD.
Pretty bud, I love to see

Much in you resembling me ;
And from your instructive look,
Learn as from a little book.

 

I am young, and so are you,

Life with us is fresh and new ;
Yet fair buds oft withered lie,
And the youngest children die.

Riper flowers may wide expand,
Win the eye and court the hand;
But, like you, O may I be
Graced with humble modesty.

When ’t is evening, dark and chill,
Close you wrap yourself from ill ;

So may God my heart secure,
Safe from every thing impure.