1 The clock has struck, I cannot stay; 2 I would be there when prayer begins, To seek the pardon of my sins; 3 0, shall my teachers wait in vain, 4 These Sabbath days will soon be o'er, 4. Love for the Sunday-school. C. M. 1 I love the Sabbath-school- the place 2 I love the Sabbath-school-'t is there The praise of God we sing, T is there we bow the knee in prayer To God, our heavenly King. 3 I love the Sabbath-school-where we 4 0, that, when life's few cares are past, Our teachers we may meet Upon the blissful plains, and cast 5. The Good Scholar. By C. M. 1 I love to go to Sabbath-school, 2 I love to hear them when they pray, And join them when they sing; I ought to sing the praise of God, And not spend a minute in trifling or play, ciously given To teach me to seek, and prepare me for And who celestial wisdom makes His early, only choice' 2 For she has treasures greater far 3 She guides the young with innocence 4 According as her labors rise, I wish that his hands had been placed on my head, That his arms had been thrown around me, 3 What object, Lord, our souls should And that I might have seen his kind look move, when he said, "Let the little ones come unto me." the Bible! the valleys shall | Slowly now, with tearful sadness, Each pursues his lonely way; Tears are falling, On this holy Sabbath-day. One we loved has left our number For the dark and silent tomb; Closed his eyes in deathless slumber, Faded in his early bloom: Hear us, Saviour, Thou hast blest the lonely tomb. 3 Through its dark and narrow portal And the grave thenceforth was blest. Join with them the sacred lay. 24. Heaven. 1 There is a glorious world of light Above the starry sky, C. M. Where saints departed, clothed in white, 2 And hark! amid the sacred songs Ten thousand thousand infant tongues L. M. 3 These are the hymns that we shall know, 1 Long let the breathing music float That soothes the dying child to rest, And gently swell each rising note That wafts it to the Saviour's breast. 20, when the youthful Christian dies, How soft the strains that angels raise! At rest on their bright wings he lies, And learns their thrilling notes of praise. Sweet is his Saviour's welcome there, And sweet the voice that bids him rest: O let me live a life so fair! O let me die a death so blest! 23. Death of a Scholar. 8, 7, 4. Greenville. 1 Where we oft have met in gladness, On the holy Sabbath-day, |