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“ 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 pray?”
“I am cheerful, young man,” Father William replied ;
“ Let the cause thy attention engage ; In the days of my youth I remember'd my God,
And He hath not forgotten my age.”
For we were nurs’d upon the self-same hill,
Under the opening eyelids of the morn,
But, О the heavy change, now thou art gone,-
But weep not, woeful shepherds, weep no more
And hears the unexpressive nuptial song
Hymn to Gratitude.
When all thy mercies, O my God,
My rising soul surveys,
In wonder, love, and praise !
O, how shall words with equal warmth
The gratitude declare,
But thou canst read it there.
Thy providence my life sustain’d,
And all my wants redress'd,
Or hung upon the breast.
To all my weak complaints and cries
Thy mercy lent an ear,
To form themselves in prayer.
Unnumber'd comforts to my soul
Thy tender care bestow'd, Before
infant heart conceiv'd From whence those comforts flow'd.
When in the slippery paths of youth
And led me up to man.
Through hidden dangers, toils, and deaths,
It gently clear'd my way;
More to be fear'd than they.
When worn with sickness, oft hast Thou
With health renew'd my face ; And when in sin and sorrow sunk,
Revivd my soul with grace.
Thy bounteous hand with worldly bliss
Has made my cup run o'er, And in a kind and faithful friend
Has doubled all my store.
Ten thousand thousand precious gifts
My daily thanks employ;
That tastes those gifts with joy.
Through ev'ry period of my life
Thy goodness I'll pursue ;
The glorious theme renew.
When nature fails, and day and night
Divide thy works no more, My ever-grateful heart, O Lord,
Thy mercy shall adore.
Through all eternity to Thee
A joyful song I'll raise : But O, eternity's too short
To utter all thy praise.
The Paper Kile. Once on a time a paper kite Was mounted to a wond'rous height; Where, giddy with its elevation, It thus express'd self-admiration :“ See how yon crowds of gazing people Admire my flight above the steeple! How would they wonder if they knew All that a kite like me can do! Were I but free, I'd take a flight, And pierce the clouds beyond their sight; But O, like a poor pris'ner bound, My string confines me near the ground.