1 WHY should I deprive my neighbour Of his goods against his will? Hands were made for honest labo ur, Not to plunder or to steal. 2 'Tis a foolish self-deceiving, By such tricks to hope for gain; All that's ever got by Thieving Turns to sorrow, shame, and pain. 3 Have not Eve and Adam taught us Their sad profit to compute? To what dismal state they brought us When they stole forbidden fruit? 4 Oft we see a young beginner Practise little pilfering ways, Tho' we fancy none can spy: V. The Ant or Emmet. But gather up corn in a sun-shiny day, One wou'd think they foresaw all the frost and the storms, And so brought their food within doors. 3 But I have less sense than a poor creeping Ant, If I take no due care for the things I shall want, Nor provide against dangers in time: When death, or old age, shall stare in my face, What a wretch shall I be in the end of my days, If I trifle away all their prime! 4 Now, now, while my strength and my youth are in bloom. Let me think what will serve me when sickness shall come, And pray that my sins be forgiven.. Let me read in good books, and be lieve, and obey, That when death turns me out of this cottage of clay, I may dwell in a palace in heaven. VI. Good Resolutions. 1 THO' I am now in younger days, Nor can tell what shall befal me, I'll prepare for ev'ry place Where my growing age shall call me, 2 Should I e'er be rich or great, 3 Where I see the blind or lame, If I mock, or hurt, or cheat them, 4 If I meet with railing tongues, Why should I return them railing. Since I best revenge my wrongs By my patience never failing; 5 When I hear them telling lies, Talking foolish, cursing, swearing, First I'll try to make them wise. Or I'll soon go out of hearing. 6 What tho' I be low and mean, I'll engage the rich to love me, While I'm modest, neat, and clean; And submit when they reprove me. 7 If I should be poor and sick, I shall meet, I hope, with pity, 8 I'll not willingly offend, 9 Nor be easily offended; What's amiss I'll strive to mend, And endure what can't be mended. May I be so watchful still O'er my humours and my passion, As to speak and do no ill, Tho' it should be all the fashion. And gives a sure hope at the end of his days, Of rising in brighter array. Some copies of the following Hymn having got abroad already into several hands, the author has been persuaded to permit it to appear in public, at the end of these Songs for children. A Cradle Hymn. 1 HUSH! my dear, lie still and slumber; 2 Sleep, my babe; thy food and raiment, 4 Soft and easy is thy cradle : Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay; 5 Blessed babe! what glorious features, 6 Was there nothing but a manger 7 Soft, my child; I did not chide thee, Tho' my song might sound too hard : * mother 'Tis thy { nurse that sits beside thee, And her arm shall be thy guard. 8 Yet to read the shameful story, 9 How the Jews abus'd their King, How they serv'd the Lord of glory, Makes me angry while I sing. See the kinder shepherds round him, Telling wonders from the sky : There they sought him, there they found him, With his virgin Mother by. See the lovely Babe a dressing 10 When he wept, the Mother's blessing Sooth'd and hush'd the holy Child. 11 Lo, he slumbers in his manger, Where the horned oxen feed ; Peace, my Darling, here's no danger, Here's no ox anear thy bed. 12 'Twas to save thee,child, from dying, 13 May'st thou live to know and fear him, 14 I could give thee thousand kisses, *Here you may use the words, brother, sister, neighbour, friend, &c. PREFACE TO THE "LYRIC POEMS." IT has been a long complaint of the virtuous and refined world, that poesy, whose original is divine, should be enslaved to vice and profaneness; than an art inspired from heaven, should have so far lost the memory of its birth-place, as to be engaged in the interests of hell. How unhappily is it perverted from its most glorious design! How basely has it been driven away from its proper station in the temple of God, and abused to much dishonour! The iniquity of men has constrained it to serve their vilest purposes, while the sons of piety mourn the sacrileges and the shame. The eldest song which history has brought down to our ears, was a noble act of worship paid to the God of Israel, when his "right-hand became glorious in power; when thy right-hand, O Lord, dashed in pieces the enemy: the chariots of Pharaoh and his hosts were cast into the red-sea: Thou didst blow with thy wind, the deep covered them, and they sank as lead in the mighty waters," Ex. xv. This art was maintained sacred through the following ages of the church, and employed by kings and prophets, by David, Solomon, and Isaiah, in describing the nature and the glories of God, and in conveying grace or vengeance to the hearts of men. By this method they brought so much of heaven down to this lower world, as the darkness of that dispensation would admit: And now and then a divine and poetic rapture lifted their souls far above the level of that economy of shadows, bore them away far into a brighter region, and gave them a glimpse of evangelic day. The life of angels was harmoniously breathed into the children of Adam, and their minds raised near to heaven in melody and devotion at once. In the younger days of heathenism the muses were devoted to the same service; The language in which old Hesiod addresses them is this: Μεσαι Πιερίηθεν αοιδησι κλείουσαι, Δεύτε, Δι εννέπετε σφέτερον πατέρ' υμνείουσαι. "Pierian muses, fam'd for heav'nly lays, "Descend, and sing the God your Father's praise." And he pursues the subject in ten pious lines, which I could not forbear to transcribe, if the aspect and sound of so much Greek were not terrifying to a nice reader. But some of the latter poets of the pagan world have debased this divine gift; and many of the writers of the first rank, in this our age of national christians, have, to their eternal shame, surpassed the vilest of the Gentiles. They have not only disrobed religion of all the ornaments of verse, but have employed their pens in impious mischief, to deform her native beauty, aud defile her honours. They have exposed her most sacred character to drollery, and dressed her up in a most vile and ridiculous disguise, for the scorn of the ruder herd of mankind. The vices have been painted like so many goddesses, the charms of wit have been added to debauchery, and the temptation heightened where nature needs the strongest restraints. With sweetness of sound, and delicacy of expression, they have given a relish to blasphemies of the harshest kind; and when they rant at their Maker in sonorous numbers, they fancy themselves to have acted the hero well. Thus almost in vain have the throne and the pulpit cried reformation; while the stage and licentious poems have waged open war with the pious design of church and state. The press has spread the poison far, and scattered wide the mortal infeetion: Unthinking youth have becu enticed to sin beyond the vicious propensities |