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DEATH OF A SCHOLAR OR TEACHER.

Sister, thou wast mild and lovely,

Gentle as the summer breeze,
Pleasant as the air of evening,

When it floats among the trees.
Peaceful be thy silent slumber -

Peaceful in the grave so low:
Thou no more wilt join our number;

Thou no more our songs shalt know. -
Dearest sister, thou hast left us ;

Here thy loss we deeply feel ;
But 't is God that hath bereft us :

He can all our sorrows heal.
Yet again we hope to meet thee,

When the day of life is fled ;
Then in heaven with joy to greet thee,
Where no farewell tear is shed.

AT TIIE GRAVE OF A TEACHER OR SCHOLAR

In this sacred spot now lieth

Low the form of one we loved ;
'Tis the form alone that dieth —

Spirits are to heaven reinoved.
Here a loving hand we gather

Round the shrine of mem'ries dear;
Smile upon us, gracious Father!

Let us feel thy presence here.
In thy love the dead and living,

All alike are circled still ;
May our souls, their tribute giving,

Bow submissive to thy will.
We are mortal - may we feel it -

All our days be thine alone ;
We're immortal - Lord, reveal it!

Let it still eachi sigh and groan.
To our home and school now bearing

Hallowed thoughts and hopes divine ;
May our souls, thy image wearing,

All to thy great love resign.

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126 Why have we lips, if not to sing! L. M.

From the Sabbath School Lute-by permission.

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prais - es of our Heavenly King? Why have we hearts, if

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not to love Our Fa - ther and our Friend above?

Why were our curious bodies made,
And every part in order laid ?
Why, but that each of us might stand,
A living wonder of his hand ?
Why have we souls, if not to know
The God from whom our mercies flow?
Sure, this can never be our lot,
Like senseless brutes to know him not!
Then lift the heart and voice to sing
The honors of our heavenly King:
And in your lives display the grace,
That circles all our feeble race.

THE HALLOWED PLACE.
What glorious truths float round us here,
Within this sacred house of prayer !
They mingle with the pealing bell,
And with the stately organ's swell.
Our dear Redeemer died for all,
The dweller of the hut and hall;
None are too lowly for his love,
None are too high to mount above.
Oh let us think, from day to day,
While, treading on our busy way,
We meet our brother scarred with sin,
Our blessed Saviour died for him.
And grateful should our spirits be,
He blessed such little ones as we;
High may our feeble voices rise,
To blend with notes beyond the skies.

THE PRIVILEGES OF YOUTH.
We are but young, - yet we may sing
The praises of our heavenly King;
His children live beneath his eye,
And children's thoughts can soar on high.
We are but young, - but here in youth
We learn the words of Christian truth;
Christ is to us the life, the way,
O, let us all his words obey !
We are but young, - We need a guide, --
In Jesus would our souls confide
0, lead us in the paths of truth,
Protect and bless our helpless youth !
We are but young, - yet God has shed
Unnumbered blessings on our head ;
Then let our youth and riper days
Be all devoted to his praise.

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