"Look on the rising sun,-there God does live, And gives his light, and gives his heat away; And flowers, and trees, and beast, and men receive Comfort in morning, joy in the noon-day. "And we are put on earth a little space, That we may learn to bear the beams of love; "For when our souls have learnt the heat to bear, Thus did my mother say, and kissed me; "When I from black, and he from white cloud free, And round the tent of God like lambs we joy, “I'll shade him from the heat, till he can bear THE BLOSSOM. MERRY, merry sparrow, Under leaves so green, Sees you, swift as arrow, Pretty, pretty robin, Under leaves so green, Hears you sobbing, sobbing, W THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPER. HEN my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me while yet my tongue Could scarcely cry "'weep, 'weep, 'weep, 'weep!" So your chimneys I sweep and in soot I sleep. There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head, That curl'd like a lamb's back, was shaved: so I said: "Hush, Tom, never mind it, for when your head's bare You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair." And so he was quiet; and that very night, As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight; Jack, Were all of them lock'd up in coffins of black. And by came an angel who had a bright key, Then naked and white, all their bags left behind, They rise upon clouds and sport in the wind; And the angel told Tom if he'd be a good boy, He'd have God for his father and never want joy. And so Tom awoke; and we rose in the dark, And got with our bags and our brushes to work. Though the morning was cold Tom was happy and warm: So if all do their duty they need not fear harm. THE LITTLE BOY LOST. ATHER! father! where are you going? FA O, do not walk so fast. Speak, father, speak to your little boy, Or else I shall be lost. The night was dark, no father was there ; The mire was deep and the child did weep, THE LITTLE BOY FOUND. Τ HE little boy lost in the lonely fen, Began to cry; but God, ever nigh, He kiss'd the child, and by the hand led, Who, in sorrow pale, thro' the lonely dale, Her little boy weeping sought. A CRADLE SONG. WEET dreams, form a shade SWE O'er my lovely infant's head; Sweet sleep, with soft down Weave thy brows an infant crown. Sweet sleep, angel mild, Hover o'er my happy child. Sweet smiles in the night All the livelong night beguiles. Sweet moans, dove-like sighs, Sleep, sleep, happy child, All creation slept and smiled; While o'er thee thy mother weep. Sweet babe, in thy face Holy image I can trace. Sweet babe, once like thee Thy Maker lay and wept for me. Wept for me, for thee, for all Smiles on thee, on me, on all; THE DIVINE IMAGE. O mercy, pity, peace, and love And to these virtues of delight Return their thankfulness. |