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188 OUR CHILDREN'S SACRED SONGS.
I THINK, WHEN I EEAD THAT SWEET STORY OF OLD.
I think, when I read that sweet story of old,
When Jesus was here among men, How he called little children as lambs to his fold�
I should like to have been with them then.
I wish that his hands had been placed on my head, That his arm had been thrown around me,
And that I might have seen his kind look when he said, " Let the little ones come unto me!"
Yet still to his footstool in prayer I may go,
And ask for a share in his love; And if I thus earnestly seek him below,
I shall see him and hear him above.
In that beautiful place he is gone to prepare For all who are washed and forgiven ;
Aud many dear children are gathering there, For of such is the kingdom of heaven.
LET DOGS DELIGHT TO BARK AND BITE.
Let dogs delight to bark and bite, For God hath made them so ;
Let bears and lions growl and fight, For 'tis their nature too.
But, children, you should never let
Such angry passions rise; Your little hands were never made
To tear each other's eyes.
Let love through all your actions run, And all your words be mild;
Live like the blessed Virgin's Sou, That sweet and lovely child.
His soul was gentle as a lamb;
And, as his stature grew, He grew in favor both with man
And God his Father too.
Now, Lord of all, he reigns above, And, from his heavenly throne,
He sees what children dwell in love, And marks them for his own.
THERE IS A GREEN HILL FAR AWAY.
There is a green hill far away,
Without a city wall, Where the dear Lord they crucified,
Who died to save us all.
We may not know, we can not tell,
What pain he had to bear; But we believe it was for us He hung and suffered there.
He died that we might be forgiven,
He died to make us good, That we might go at last to heaven,
Saved by his precious blood.
There was none other good enough
To pay the price of sin; He only could unlock the gate
Of heaven, and let us in.
Oh, dearly, dearly has he loved, And we must love him too,
And trust in his redeeming blood, And try his works to do.
HOW DOTH THE LITTLE BUSY BEE, Isaac Watts.
How doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey all the day From every opening dower!
How skillfully she builds her cell!
How neat she spreads her wax! And labors hard to store it well
With the sweet food she makes.
In works of labor or of skill
I would be busy too, For Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do.
In books, or work, or healthful play, Let my first years be past,
That I may give for every day Some good account at last.