Be near to bless me when I wake, Ere through the world my way I take; Abide with me till in Thy love I lose myself in heaven above. --_John Keble_.
Every day has its dawn, Its soft and silent eve, Its noontide hours of bliss or bale,-- Why should we grieve?
Why do we heap huge mounds of years Before us and behind, And scorn the little days that pass Like angels on the wind?
Each turning round a small, sweet face, As beautiful as near; Because it has so small a face We will not see it clear:
We will not clasp it as it flies, And kiss its lips and brow: We will not bathe our wearied souls In its delicious Now.
And so it turns from us, and goes A way in sad disdain: Though we would give our lives for it, It never comes again.
Oh, what can little hands do To please the King of heaven? The little hands some work may try To help the poor in misery: Such grace to mine be given.
Oh, what can little lips do, To please the King of heaven? The little lips can praise and pray, And gentle words of kindness say: Such grace to mine be given.
Oh, what can little eyes do, To please the King of heaven? The little eyes can upward look, And learn to read God's holy Book: Such grace to mine be given.
Oh, what can little hearts do, To please the King of heaven? Our hearts, if God His Spirit send, Can love and trust their Saviour-Friend: Such grace to mine be given.
When hearts, and hands, and lips unite To please the King of heaven, And serve the Saviour with delight, They are most precious in His sight: Such grace to mine be given. --_Fabin_.
How gentle God's commands, How kind His precepts are! Come cast your burdens on the Lord, And trust His constant care.
While Providence supports, Let saints securely dwell; That hand which bears all nature up Shall guide His children well.
Why should this anxious load Press down your weary mind? Haste to your heavenly Father's throne, And sweet refreshment find.
His goodness stands approved, Down to the present day; I'll drop my burden at His feet, And bear a song away. --_Philip Doddridge_.
Above the clear blue sky, In heaven's bright abode, The angel host on high Sing praises to their God: Alleluia! They love to sing To God their King Alleluia!
But God from children's tongues On earth receiveth praise; We then our cheerful songs In sweet accord will raise: Alleluia! We, too, will sing To God our King Alleluia!