66 "Till I have my journey past, MRS. BARBAULD. CHILD'S HYMN. 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 him then. I wish that his hand 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!" If Jesus were here, and would smile on my song, When to love him and praise him I tried, With sweetest hosannas, I'd join in the throng, And would press myself close to his side. And if they should chide me or send me away, I would cling to his sheltering knee; And I'd tell them the words he himself once did say- "Let the little ones come unto me!" Yet still to the footstool of mercy I'll go, And ask for a share of 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; And many dear children are gathering there, "For of such is the kingdom of Heaven." But thousands and thousands, who wander and fall, Never heard of that beautiful home; I should like them to know there is room for them all, And that Jesus has bid them to come. I so long for the joy of that glorious time, The sweetest, and brightest, and best, When the dear little children of every clime, Shall crowd to his arms and be blest. THE ORPHAN CHILD. Upon my father's new-clos'd grave But other hearts, Lord, thou hast warm'd The stranger's hand by thee is moved To be the orphan's stay; And better far, the stranger's voice Hath taught me how to pray. THE HEAVENLY LAND. EVERY morning the red sun And the dark cold night; Every spring the sweet young flowers Open fresh and gay; Wither them away; There's a land we have not seen, Where the trees are always green. Little birds sing songs of praise They forget their song: There's a place where Angels sing Who shall go to that fair land? In their robes of white; For that heaven so bright and blest CHARLIE. A BLOOMING group at morning's prime, And one a beauteous boy, o'er whom Oh! sweet, my son, the gem you bring, "I waked, because the Lord sustained;" Complete the sentence blest. ་ |