The day is gone,—the silent night
Invites me to my peaceful bed;
But, Lord, I know that it is right
To thank Thee, ere I rest my head.
For my good meals and pleasant hours,
That I have had this present day,
Let me exert my infant powers
To praise Thee, nor forget to pray.
Thou art most good. I can’t tell all
That Thou hast ever done for me;
My Shepherd, now on Thee I call,
From dangers still preserve me free.
If I’ve been naughty on this day,
Oh! make me sorry for my fault;
Do Thou forgive, and teach the way
To follow Jesus as I ought.
And now I’ll lay me down to rest,
Myself,—my friends,—all safely keep;
May Thy great name be ever blest,
Both when we wake, and when we sleep.
A MOMENT TOO LATE!
A moment too late, my beautiful bird,—
A moment too late are you now,
The wind has your soft, downy nest disturbed,—
The nest that you hung on the bough.
A moment too late,—that string in your bill
Would have fastened it firmly and strong;
But see, there it goes rolling over the hill!
Oh! you tarried a moment too long.
A moment too late,—too late, busy bee,
The honey has dropped from the flower;
No use to creep under the petals to see,—
It stood ready to drop for an hour.
A moment too late,—had you sped on your wing,
The honey would not have been gone;
But see what a very,—a very sad thing,
’Tis to tarry a moment too long.
A LITTLE SONNET ABOUT LITTLE THINGS.
The little, smoky vapors
Produce the drops of rain;
These little drops commingle,
And form the boundless main.