O tell me, will he condescend
To be a little infant's friend.
Mother. He will, my love; for though he made
Those wonders in the sky,
You never need to be afraid
He should neglect your cry;
For, humble as a child may be,
A child that prays he loves to see.
Behold the daisy where you tread,
That little lowly thing;
Behold the insects over-head,
That play about in spring.
Though we may think them mean and small,
Yet God takes notice of them all.
And will not Jesus deign to make
A feeble child his care?
Ah, yes! he died for children's sake,
And loves the infant's prayer.—
God made the stars and daisies too,
And watches over them and you.
Fair breaks the morn o'er yonder eastern sky,
And brightening hills in pleasing prospect rise,
How blest the man whose peaceful days are spent
In useful exercise and calm content!
Who with the lark salutes the early dawn,
Breathes ruddy health from every breezy lawn;
Far from the world, retired to rural shades,
Where loathsome dissipation ne'er invades.
The rustic swain, while toiling soon and late,
Is ever glad, nor grudges at his fate;
And thus disposed to work the fruitful soil,
Feels dignity and pleasure in the toil!
No ills he hears, no dangers does he fear,
All's peace around within his narrow sphere.
THE RESURECTION OF CHRIST.
Christ, the Lord, is risen to-day!
Sons of men, and angels say;
Raise your joys and triumphs high—
Sing, ye heavens, and earth reply.
O! mhàthair innsibh 'n deònach leis
Eisdeachd ri leanabh baoth mar mis'?
Mathair.-Mo ghaol, gun teagamh, 's deònach leis;
'S ged rinn e feachd nan speur
Na bitheadh eagal idir ort
Nach cluinn e thu a t' fheum;
Do leanabh beag, 'tha lag a's faoin,
A bhios ag ùrnuigh 's mòr a ghaol.
Seall air an neònain iosal, fhann
'Bhios clann a' saltairt sìos ;
Seall air a' chuileig os do cheann
Tha 'dannsa shuas gun sgìos:
Ged shaoileas sinn' iad lag a's faoin,
Tha Dia 'g an cumail suas gach aon.
'S is cinnteach mi gu'n deònaich Criosd
Làn dìon do leanabaibh òg;
'Son' dh' fhuiling esan air an sgàth
Cha diùlt e gràs a's glòir:
Bi 'g earbsa as gach oidhch' a's lǎ,
A's gheibh thu 'n fhois nach tréig gu
Air fiamh na gréine theachd do'n speur o'n chuan,
A thilgeadh soillse thar gach coill a's cluan,
'S a' mhaduinn chiùin, 's am feur fo dhriùchd ro throm,
'S na h-eoin 'n an còisridh 'm bàrr nan òb 's nan tom,
A' seinn an ceoil gu fonnmhor, bòidheach, binn,
'S mac-tall'-nan-creag 'co-fhreagaradh d'an seinn.
'M fear-dùthcha suairce dùisgidh suas á shuain,
'S ann leis bu taitneach claistinneachd na fuaim:
Gu sunndach, ait gu'n tig e mach do'n raon,
'N deigh sgìos, 's an oidhche chur á chuimhn' gu faoin
R'a obair chleachdta teannaidh e gun dàil,
A chuireas neart a's fallaineachd 'na chàil;
A's miann air maoin cha chràidh, 's cha chlaoidh a chrì', 'S e 'mealtuinn neart a's fallaineachd mar nì.
AISEIRIDH CHRIOSD.
Dh'éirich Criosd a nìos o'n uaigh !
Seinnibh na tha bhos a's shuas;
Seinn a thalaimh, seinn a nèamh,
Cuiribh uile 'chliù am mend,
Love's redeeming work is done;
Fought the fight, the battle won:
Lo! the sun's eclipse is o'er ;
Lo! he sets in blood no more.
Vain the stone, the watch, the seal,
Christ has burst the gates of hell; .
Death in vain forbids his rise,
Christ has opened paradise.
Lives again our glorious King,
Where, O death, is now thy sting?
Once he died our souls to save,
Where's thy victory boasting, grave
Soar we now where Christ has led,
Following our exalted Head;
Made like him, like him we rise,
Ours the cross, the grave, the skies.
Hail, thou Lord of earth and heaven,
Praise to thee by both be given!
Thee we greet triumphant now,
Hail! the Resurrection-Thou.
CHRIST'S KINGDOM.*
Jesus shall reign where'er the sun
His vast successive course shall run;
His kingdom stretch from shore to shore,
Till moons shall wax and wane no more.
Through him shall endless prayer be made,
And ceaseless praises crown his head;
His name, like sweet perfume, shall rise,
With every morning sacrifice.
People and realms of every tongue
Dwell on his love with sweetest song;
And infant voices shall proclaim,
Their early blessings on his name.
* It has been suggested by the Rev. J. A. James of Birmingham, and we believe very generally acted upon, that the above Hymn should be sung on the first day of 1859, by all the Christian fami
Obair chriochnaich, 's chaidh e suas,
Chuir e'n cath, a's fhuair e bhuaidh;
Dh'fhalbh an smal a bh'air a' ghréin,
A's dealraidh i gu sìor 'na dhéigh.
B' fhaoin a' chlach 's gach innleachd dhaoin',
Chuir e croinn na h-uaigh mu sgaoil;
B' fhaoin do'n bhàs a ghabhail sìos,
Dh'éirich e le buaidh a nìos.
Feuch a nis tha Iosa beò,
Ghabh e còmhnuidh ann an glòir;
Thug a bhàs an gath o'n Bhàs,
Chaill an uaigh a buaidh gu bràch.
Aig Criosd a nis tha neart a's glòir,
A's riaghaladh an domhain mhòir ;
Nèamh a's ifrinn tha f'a làimh,
'S gach ni a's neach ri bheil ar dàimh.
A Righ na glòir! 'se so an t-àgh,
Géill a's cliù thoirt duit gu bràch ;
Sith a's réite riut gu sìor,
So a' bheatha shuthainn, fhìor.
RIOGHACHD CHRIOSD.
Do Iosa bheir gach cinneach géill,
O éiridh gu dol fodha gréin';
Bidh 'uachdranachd o thràigh gu tràigh,
Gus nach tomhais geallach tràth.
Na 'ainm-san theid gach ùrnuigh suas,
A's cliù a's moladh o gach sluagh;
'S mar bholtrach tùis theid 'ainm an àird
Le ìobairt mhaduinn as gach àit'.
Gach sluagh a's dùthaich tha fo'n ghréin
Ni seinn mu 'ghaol-san feadh gach ré;
'S do ainm ro-naomha Triáth na glòir
Leanabaibh 's cìochrain togaidh ceòl.
lies and Sabbath school children throughout the world, wherever the English language is spoken, beginning at Britain, and travelling with the sun round the globe.
Blessings abound where'er he reigns,
The prisoner leaps to loose his chains;
The weary find eternal rest,
And all the sons of want are bless'd,
Where he displays his healing pow'r,
Death and the grave are fear'd no more;
In him the sons of Adam boast
More blessings than their father lost.
Let every creature rise, and bring
Peculiar honours to our King:
Angels descend with songs again,
And earth repeat the loud Amen
In form I long had bowed my knee;
But nought attractive then could see,
To win my wayward heart to thee,
When, self-accused, I trembling stood,
I promised fair, as any could;
But never counted on thy blood,
Too soon the promise vain I proved,
That sinners make while sin is loved;
But still to thee this heart ne'er moved,
To pleasure prone, I thought it hard,
From pleasure's path to be debarr'd;
Nor pleasure sought from thy regard,
Thou whom I had so long withstood,
Thou didst redeem my soul with blood,
And thou hast brought me nigh to God,
Through storms and waves of conflict past,
Thy potent arm has held me fast,
And thou wilt save me to the last,
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