Hymns, Songs, and Fables, for Young People | Page 9

cold
and stormy here with me,
'Tis warm, and, O, so still with thee!
Ah!
let me, let me in!
Thou took'st me gladly once with thee,
So gladly held my hand;
O,
see, thou hast forsaken me!
Take me this time again with thee
Into
the heavenly land.
CHILD'S SONG.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN.
When at night I go to sleep,
Fourteen angels are at hand;--
Two on
my right their watches keep;
Two on my left to bless me stand;


Two hover gently o'er my head;
Two guard the foot of my small bed;

Two wake me with the sun's first ray;
Two dress me nicely every
day;
Two guide me on the heavenly road,
That leads to paradise and
God.
TO A FOUNTAIN.
FROM THE GERMAN OF RAMLER.
Lo! this fount is flowing ever;
But the fountain prattles never.

Traveller! at this fountain stay;
Learn of it, with pure endeavour,

Good to do, and nothing say.
SONG FOR AN INFANT SCHOOL.
Children go
To and fro,
In a merry, pretty row,
Footsteps light,
Faces bright;
'Tis a happy sight.
Swiftly turning
round and round,
Do not look upon the ground.
Follow me,
Full of glee,
Singing merrily.
Birds are free,
So are we;
And we live as happily.
Work we do,
Study too,
For we learn "twice two";
Then we laugh,
and dance, and sing,
Gay as birds or any thing.
Follow me,
Full of glee,
Singing merrily.
Work is done,
Play's begun;
Now we have our laugh and fun.
Happy days,
Pretty plays,
And no naughty ways.
Holding fast
each other's hand,
We're a little happy band;
Follow me,
Full of glee,
Singing merrily.
THE SUMMER.

A FREE TRANSLATION OF A GERMAN POPULAR SONG.
Go forth, my heart, and seek the bliss
Of such a summer day as this,

Bestowed on all by Heaven;
The beauties of the garden see,

Behold! it is for thee and me
Its glories all are given.
The trees with whispering leaves are dressed,
The earth upon her
dusky breast
Her robe of green is wearing;
The flowers are
blooming far and wide,--
Not Solomon in all his pride
With them
would bear comparing.
The dove from out her nest doth fly;
Far upward in the clear blue sky

The lark her way is winging;
Hark to the lovely nightingale!

With her sweet song each hill and dale,
And woods and rocks, are
ringing.
The hen brings out her little brood,
The swallow finds her young ones
food,
The stork her house is keeping.
The bounding stag, the timid
roe,
Are full of joy, and to and fro,
Through the high grass, are
leaping.
The brook is tinkling as it goes,
And with the myrtle and the rose

Its shady banks adorning;
While, from the flowery mead near by,

The sheep and shepherd's joyful cry
Salutes the early morning.
The never idle troops of bees
Fly here and there, and where they
please
Their honey food are quaffing;
The sap is running up the
vine,
Round the old elm its tendrils twine,
And in the sun are
laughing.
And can I, may I, silent be?
When all God's glorious works I see

My soul desires to know him.
When all are singing I must sing,

And to the Highest I must bring
The tribute which I owe him.
Are all things here so bright and fair,
And has he with a loving care


My happy being given?
What, in the glorious world above,
Where
all is beauty, all is love,--
What shall I be in heaven?
O, were I there! O, stood I now
In that great Presence! there to bow

In grateful love before him,
Then would I with the angels raise
One
never-ending song of praise,
And worship and adore him!
TO A BEAUTIFUL GIRL.
Sweet flower! so young, so fresh, so fair,
Bright pleasure sparkling in
thine eye,
Alas! e'en thee time will not spare,
And thou must die.
The heart with youthful hope so gay,
That scarcely ever breathed a
sigh,
Must weep o'er pleasures fled away,
For all must die.
But though the rosy cheek may fade,
The virtuous wish, the purpose
high,
The bloom with which the soul's arrayed,
Shall never die.
THE LITTLE SLAVE'S WISH.
I wish I was that little bird
Up in the bright blue sky,
That sings and
flies just where he will,
And no one asks him why.
I wish I was that little brook
That runs so swift along,
Through
pretty flowers, and shining stones,
Singing a merry song.
I wish I was a butterfly,
Without a fear or care,
Spreading my
many-colored wings,
Like a flower in the air.
I wish I was that wild, wild deer,
That I saw the other day,
Who

through the dark green forest flew,
Like an arrow far away.
I wish I was that little cloud
By the gentle south-wind driven,

Floating along so calm and bright
Up to the gates of heaven.
I'd rather be a savage beast,
And dwell in a gloomy cave,
And
shake the forest when I roared,
Than what I am,--a slave.
My mother calls me her good boy,
My father calls me brave;
What
wicked action have I done
That I should be a slave?
They tell me God is very good.
That his right arm can save;
O, is it,
can it, be his will
That I should be a slave?
O, how much better 'tis to die,
And lie down in the grave,
Than 'tis
to