Alida Part 57

With ardent zeal some students may From hence arise and s.h.i.+ne, To wipe the orphan's tears away, And heal with balm divine; "With winning eloquence to tell, What glories in Emmanuel dwell."

Some of the little ones may live To adorn their country's name; "Indulgent heav'n by them may give Fresh l.u.s.tre to her fame.

Some may the blessed Gospel bear, To distant lands, and plant it there."

And many to this favour'd spot, On G.o.d's eventful day, O happy, enviable lot, Grateful shall point and say, "There--there--to us the bliss was given, To seek and find the path to heaven."

[Bourne, "The Sabbath School", stz. 1-3, 5. Quoted from _The Christian Visitant_, Boston 1827:

How sweet to mark the artless throng, And hear th' ingenious youth Raise with one voice, the infant song, And learn the word of truth; Delightful work! his path to trace, Who died to save our ruined race.

Now fancy, o'er life's little span, Glances her busy eyes.

And sees them bear the name of man-- Industrious, good, and wise: Bids them each useful art employ, Antic.i.p.ates their future joy.

Some of the little ones may live To adorn their country's name; Indulgent heaven by them may give Fresh l.u.s.tre to her fame.

Some may the blessed Gospel bear To distant lands, and plant it there.

And many to this honor'd spot, On G.o.d's eventful day, (Oh happy enviable lot!) Grateful shall point and say, There,--there,--to us the bliss was giv'n, To seek and find the path to heav'n!]

FRIENDs.h.i.+P.

"Oh, give me the friend, from whose warm, faithful breast, The sigh breathes responsive to mine; Where my cares may obtain the soft pillow of rest, And my sorrows may love to recline."

Not the friend who my hours of pleasure will share, But abide not the season of grief; Who flies from the brow that is darken'd by care, And the silence that looks for relief.

Not the friend who suspicious of change or of guile, Would shrink from a confidence free; Nor him who with fondness complacent can smile, On the eye that looks coldly on me.

"As the mirror that's just to each blemish or grace, To myself will my image reflect; But to none but myself will that image retrace, Nor picture one absent defect."

To myself let my friend be a mirror as true, Thus my faults from all others conceal, Nor ever when absent those foibles renew, "That from heav'n and from man he should veil."

[Tighe, _A Faithful Friend is the Medicine of Life_, last five stanzas:

Oh! give me the friend, from whose warm faithful breast The sigh breathes responsive to mine, Where my cares may obtain the soft pillow of rest, And my sorrows may love to recline.

Not the friend who my hours of pleasure will share, But abide not the season of grief; Who flies from the brow that is darkened by care, And the silence that looks for relief.

Not the friend who, suspicious of change or of guile, Would shrink from a confidence free; Nor him who with fondness complacent can smile On the eye that looks coldly on me.

As the mirror that, just to each blemish or grace, To myself will my image reflect, But to none but myself will that image retrace, Nor picture one absent defect.

To my soul let my friend be a mirror as true, Thus my faults from all others conceal; Nor, absent, those failings or follies renew, Which from Heaven and from man he should veil.]

[TO MARIA.]

[THE SUN.]

[THE VOICE OF TIME.]

[In Memory of MRS. WILLIAM RICHARDS.]

INVOCATION TO PRAYER.

Morning.

To prayer, to prayer; for the morning breaks, And earth in her Maker's smile awakes.

His light is on all, below and above; The light of gladness, and life, and love; Oh, then, on the breath of this early air, Send upward the incense of grateful prayer.

Evening.

To prayer; for the glorious sun is gone, And the gathering darkness of night comes on: Like a curtain, from G.o.d's kind hand it flows, To shade the couch where his children repose;-- Then pray, while the watching stars are bright, And give your last thoughts to the Guardian of night!

Sabbath.

To prayer; for the day that G.o.d has blest, Comes tranquilly on with its welcome rest; It speaks of creation's early bloom, It speaks of the Prince who burst the tomb.

Then summon the spirit's exalted powers, And devote to Heaven the hallowed hours!

[Henry Ware, "Seasons of Prayer" (first three stanzas):

To prayer, to prayer;--for the morning breaks, And earth in her Maker's smile awakes.

His light is on all below and above,-- The light of gladness, and life, and love.

Oh, then, on the breath of this early air Send upward the incense of grateful prayer.

To prayer;--for the glorious sun is gone, And the gathering darkness of night comes on; Like a curtain from G.o.d's kind hand it flows, To shade the couch where his children impose.

Then kneel, while the watching stars are bright, And give your last thoughts to the Guardian of night.

To prayer;--for the day that G.o.d has blest Comes tranquilly on with its welcome rest.

It speaks of creation's early bloom; It speaks of the Prince who burst the tomb.

Then summon the spirit's exalted powers, And devote to Heaven the hallowed hours.]