"YOUR HEA-VEN-LY FA-THER FEED-ETH THEM."
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God loves His lit-tle birds; for all His ten-der care He shows; A sin-gle spar-row can-not fall But its Cre-a-tor knows. They do not sow, nor reap the corn, Gar-ner nor barn have they; God gives them break-fast every morn, And feeds them through the day. And this we know; for in His Word, Where all His ways we read, We find that eve-ry lit-tle bird He cares for, and will feed. God loves each lit-tle bird; but still More ten-der is His care For chil-dren who o-bey His will, Than for the fowls of air. |
PLOUGH-ING.
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The lit-tle birds by God are fed But man must earn his dai-ly bread, And work that he may eat; Striv-ing his best, as John does now, The broad ten-acre field to plough, Where-in to sow the wheat. Old John, the plough-man, ne'er re-pines, Whe-ther it blows, or rains, or shines, But hap-py still does seem; And Dick, who leads the fore-most horse, Goes whist-ling as he walks across The field be-side the team. Let us per-form as glad-ly, too, The work our Mas-ter bids us do, And then we need not fear; But when from earth-ly toil we rest, We all shall meet a-mong the blest Who served Him tru-ly here. |