A flower, when offered in the bud, Is no vain sacrifice.
And he that does one fault at first And lies to hide it, makes it two.[301-3]
Let dogs delight to bark and bite, For God hath made them so; Let bears and lions growl and fight, For 't is 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.
Birds in their little nests agree; And 't is a shameful sight When children of one family Fall out, and chide, and fight.
How doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour, And gather honey all the day From every opening flower!
For Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do.
I have been there, and still would go; 'T is like a little heaven below.
Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber! Holy angels guard thy bed! Heavenly blessings without number Gently falling on thy head.
'T is the voice of the sluggard; I heard him complain, "You have wak'd me too soon, I must slumber again."
Lord, in the morning thou shalt hear My voice ascending high.
From all who dwell below the skies Let the Creator's praise arise; Let the Redeemer's name be sung Through every land, by every tongue.
Fly, like a youthful hart or roe, Over the hills where spices grow.
_Hymns and Spiritual Songs. Book i. Hymn 79._
And while the lamp holds out to burn, The vilest sinner may return.
_Hymns and Spiritual Songs. Book i. Hymn 88._
Strange that a harp of thousand strings Should keep in tune so long!
_Hymns and Spiritual Songs. Book ii. Hymn 19._
_Hymns and Spiritual Songs. Book ii. Hymn 63._
The tall, the wise, the reverend head Must lie as low as ours.
_Hymns and Spiritual Songs. Book ii. Hymn 63._
When I can read my title clear To mansions in the skies, I 'll bid farewell to every fear, And wipe my weeping eyes.
_Hymns and Spiritual Songs. Book ii. Hymn 65._
There is a land of pure delight, Where saints immortal reign; Infinite day excludes the night, And pleasures banish pain.
_Hymns and Spiritual Songs. Book ii. Hymn 66._
So, when a raging fever burns, We shift from side to side by turns; And 't is a poor relief we gain To change the place, but keep the pain.
_Hymns and Spiritual Songs. Book ii. Hymn 146._
Were I so tall to reach the pole, Or grasp the ocean with my span, I must be measured by my soul: The mind 's the standard of the man.[303-1]