Hymns, Songs, and Fables, for Young People | Page 8

an inward sun;
And
heaven above and heaven within
Do meet and join in one.
CHILDREN IN SLAVERY.
When children play the livelong day,
Like birds and butterflies,
As
free and gay sport life away,
And know not care nor sighs;
Then earth and air seem fresh and fair,
All peace below, above;


Life's flowers are there, and everywhere
Is innocence and love.
When children pray with fear all day,
A blight must be at hand;

Then joys decay, and birds of prey
Are hovering o'er the land.

When young hearts weep as they go to sleep,
Then all the world
seems sad;
The flesh must creep, and woes are deep,
When children
are not glad.
TO GOOD RESOLUTIONS.
How like the morning flower ye are!
Which lifts its diamond head,

Exulting in the mead;
But the rude wind shall steal its gem,
Shall
break its tender stem,
And leave it dead.
Frail pledges of the contrite heart,
Wherefore so soon decay?
O, yet
prolong your stay!
Until my soul shall boldly rise,
And claim its
native skies,
Haste not away.
THANKS FOR A PLEASANT DAY.
Come, let us all, with heart and voice,
To God our Father sing and
pray;
In his unceasing love rejoice,
And thank him for this pleasant
day.
The clear blue sky looks full of love;
Let all our selfish passions
cease!
O, let us lift our thoughts above,
Where all is brightness,
goodness, peace.
If we have done a brother wrong,
O, let us seek to be forgiven;
Nor
let one discord spoil the song
Our hearts would raise this day to
heaven.
This blessed day, when the pure air
Is full of sweetness, full of joy,--

When all around is calm and fair,--
Shall we the harmony destroy?
O, may it be our earnest care
To free our souls from every sin;
Then

will each day be bright and fair,
For God's pure sunshine dwells
within.
TO A BUTTERFLY.
[Those who are acquainted with this little poem, translated from Herder,
will perceive that a slight liberty has been taken with the last two lines.]
Airy, lovely, heavenly thing!
Butterfly with quivering wing!

Hovering in thy transient hour
Over every bush and flower,

Feasting upon flowers and dew,
Thyself a brilliant blossom, too!
Who, with skilful fingers fine,
Purpled o'er those wings of thine?

Was it some sylph whose tender care
Spangled thy robes so fine and
fair,
And wove them of the morning air?
I feel thy little throbbing
heart;
Thou fear'st e'en now death's bitter smart.
Fly, little spirit, fly away!
Be free and joyful thy short day!
Image
thou dost seem to me
Of that which I may one day be,
When I shall
drop this robe of earth,
And wake into a spirit's birth.
TO NATURE.
FROM THE GERMAN OF FREDERICK LEOPOLD, COUNT
OF STALBERG.
Holy nature! fresh and free,
Let me ever follow thee;
By the hand,
O, lead me still,
Like a child, at thy sweet will.
When with weariness oppressed,
I will on thy bosom rest,
Breathe
in pleasure from above,
In thy mother-arms of love.
O, how well it is for me
Thee to love, with thee to be!
Holy nature!
sweet and free,
Let me ever follow thee.
ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG COMPANION.

Farewell for a time!
Thou hast gone to that clime
Where sickness
and sorrow are o'er.
We loved thee when here,
We shed the sad tear
To think we shall
see thee no more.
We weep not for thee,
We remember that He
Who made little
children his care
In his own fatherland
Will reach you his hand,
And comfort and
welcome you there.
Our tears they will flow;
But do we not know
That thou art released
from all pain?
Then weep not; for He
Who walked on the sea
Has said we shall all
live again.
THE SABBATH IS HERE.
FROM KRUMACHER.
The Sabbath is here, it is sent us from heaven;
Rest, rest, toilsome life,
Be silent all strife,
Let us stop on our way,

And give thanks and pray
To Him who all things has given.
The Sabbath is here, to the fields let us go;
How fresh and how fair!
In the still morning air,
The bright golden
grain
Waves over the plain;
It is God who doth all this bestow.
The Sabbath is here; on this blessed morn
No tired ox moans,
No creaking wheel groans,
At rest is the plough;

No noise is heard now,
Save the sound of the rustling corn.

The Sabbath is here; our seed we have sown
In hope and in faith;
The Father he saith
Amen! Be it so!
Behold
the corn grow!
Rejoicing his goodness we'll own.
The Sabbath is here; His love we will sing
Who sendeth the rain
Upon the young grain.
And soon all around

The sickle will sound.
And home the bright sheaves we will bring.
The Sabbath is here; in hope and in love
We sow in the dust,
While humbly we trust
Up yonder shall grow

The seed which we sow,
And bloom a bright garland above.
THE CHILD AT HER MOTHER'S GRAVE.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN.
In that little room of thine,
Sweet sleep has come to thee;
Ah,
mother! dearest mother mine!
O, call me to that room of thine!
O,
shut it not from me!
I would so gladly be with thee,
And be thy child again;
'Tis