Illustrated songs and hymns for the little ones, compiled by uncle John

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Page 108 - May'st thou live to know and fear Him, Trust and love Him all thy days ; Then go dwell for ever near Him, See His face, and sing His praise...
Page 47 - O thou by whom we come to God— The life, the truth, the way ; The path of prayer thyself hast trod ; Lord, teach us how to pray.
Page 46 - Prayer is the simplest form of speech That infant lips can try, Prayer the sublimest strains that reach The Majesty on high. Prayer is the Christian's vital breath, The Christian's native air, His watchword at the gates of death ; He enters heaven with prayer. Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice, Returning from his ways ; While angels in their songs rejoice, And cry,
Page 40 - Bow-wow! I wouldn't be so mean, anyhow! I gave hairs the nest to make, But the nest I did not take. Not I,
Page 25 - THE ROSE. How fair is the Rose ! what a beautiful flower ! The glory of April and May : But the leaves are beginning to fade in an hour, And they wither and die in a day. Yet the Rose has one powerful virtue to boast, Above all the flowers of the field ! When its leaves are all dead and fine...
Page 11 - SUPPOSE the little Cowslip Should hang its golden cup, And say, " I'm such a tiny flower I'd better not grow up...
Page 37 - Will you listen to me? Who stole four eggs I laid, And the nice nest I made?" "Not I," said the cow, "Moo-oo! Such a thing I'd never do. I gave you a wisp of hay, But didn't take your nest away. Not I," said the cow, "Moo-ool Such a thing I'd never do.
Page 117 - I'm sure I could not count them all, They are so very bright and small. The sun is brighter still than they : He blazes in the skies ; I dare not turn my face that way, Unless I shut my eyes : Yet when he shines our hearts revive, And all the trees rejoice and thrive. God made and keeps them every one, By his great power and might : He is more glorious than the sun, And all the stars of light : But when we end our mortal race, The pure in heart shall see his face.
Page 108 - Soothed and hushed the holy child. Lo, He slumbers in his manger, Where the horned oxen fed; Peace, my darling, here's no danger, Here's no ox a-near thy bed.
Page 42 - Don't ask me again, Why, I haven'ta chick Would do such a trick. We all gave her a feather, And she wove them together. I'd scorn to intrude On her and her brood. Cluck! Cluck!" said the hen, "Don't ask me again.

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