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THE GOOD SHEPHERD.
The Lord my pasture shall prepare,
When in the sultry glebe I faint,
Though in the paths of death I tread,
Though in a bare and rugged way,
Thy bounty shall my pains beguile;
THE USE OF FLOWERS.
God might have made the earth bring forth
Enough for great and small, The oak tree and the cedar tree,
Without a flower at all.
We might have had enough, enough
For every want of ours,
And yet have had no flowers.
The ore within the mountain mine,
Requireth none to grow,
To make the river flow.
The clouds might give abundant rain ;
The nightly dews might fall,
Might yet have drunk them all.
Then wherefore, wherefore were they made,
All dyed with rainbow light,
Upspringing day and night :
Springing in valleys green and low,
And on the mountains high, And in the silent wilderness,
Where no man passes by.
Our outward life requires them not,
Then wherefore had they birth? To minister delight to man,
To beautify the earth.
To comfort man—to whisper hope,
Whene'er bis faith is dim,
Will also care for Him.
THE OLD MAN'S COMFORTS, AND HOW
HE GAINED THEM.
“ You are old, father William," the young
man cried, “ The few locks that are left you are grey : You are hale, father William, a hearty old man:
Now tell me the reason, I pray ?”
“ In the days of my youth," father William
I remember'd that youth would fly fast, And abus'd not my health and my vigour at
6. You are old, father William,” the young
man cried, “ And pleasures with youth pass away, And yet you lament not the days that are gone :
Now tell me the reason I pray?"
“ In the days of my youth,” father William
replied, “ I remembered that youth could not last I thought of the future whatever I did,
That I never might grieve for the past."
“ You are old, father William,” the young
man cried ; " And life must be hastening away ; You are cheerful, and love to converse upon
death : Now tell me the reason I
“I am cheerful, young man," father William
replied, “Let the cause thy attention engage : In the days of my youth I remembered my
THE BLIND CHILD.
I heard my mother's lullaby,
In childhood's early tide;
When my lov'd father died.
The while she breathed a prayer
Now and for ever there ;