122 SONGS FOR THE

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
    

And tell them this is their home, mamma,
Oh, tell them this is their home ;

And give them something to eat that’s nice,

Of bread and butter a good large slice,
And bid them no more to roam.

For isn’t it all too bad, mamma,
Oh, is n’t it all too bad,
That they must starve, or beg in the street,
No cloak to their backs, or shoes to their feet,
While I am so finely clad?

It may be God sent them here, mamma,

It may be God sent them here,
And now looks down from his home in the sky,
To watch them and see whether you and |

Are kind to his children dear.

And will he not angry be, mamma,
And will he not angry be,
If we let them go on in the storm s0 rough,
To perish with want, while more than enough
For them and for us have we?

 

TRYING TO DO RIGHT.
O that it were my chief delight
To do the things I ought ;
Then let me try with all my might,
To mind what I am taught.