True Rest, 54 One by One, 56 God Seen in His Works, 57 The Little Sunbeam, 58 Compassion,--I Will be Good to-day, 59 I'll Do what I Can, 60 Time to Arise, 61 Divine Guidance,--Industry, 62 "Prayer is the Soul's sincere Desire," 63 Angry Words, 63 The Request, 64 DEVOTIONAL POETRY FOR THE CHILDREN. THE LIFE-CLOCK. There is a little mystic clock, No human eye hath seen, That beateth on,--and beateth on,-- From morning until e'en. And when the soul is wrapped in sleep, All silent and alone, It ticks and ticks the livelong night, And never runneth down. Oh! wondrous is that work of art, Which knells the passing hour; But art ne'er formed, nor mind conceived, The life-clock's magic power. Not set in gold, nor decked with gems, By wealth and pride possessed; But rich or poor, or high or low, Each bears it in his breast. Such is the clock that measures life,-- Of flesh and spirit blended,-- And thus 't will run within the breast, Till that strange life is ended. GOD IS LOVE. Lo! the heavens are breaking, Pure and bright above; Light and life awaking, Murmur, "God is love." Music now is ringing, Through the leafy grove, Feathered songsters, singing, Warble, "God is love." Wake, my heart, and springing, Spread thy wings above; Soaring still, and singing,-- Singing, "God is love." TIME. A minute,--how soon it is flown! And yet, how important it is! God calls every moment His own,-- For all our existence is His: And tho' we may waste many moments each day, He notices each that we squander away. We should not a minute despise, Although it so quickly is o'er; We know that it rapidly flies, And therefore should prize it the more. Another, indeed, may appear in its stead; But that precious minute, for ever, is fled. 'Tis easy to squander our years In idleness, folly, and strife; But, oh! no repentance nor tears Can bring back one moment of life. Then wisely improve all the time as it goes, And life will be happy, and peaceful the close. THANKSGIVING. There's not a leaf within the bower,-- There's not a bird upon the tree,-- There's not a dewdrop on the flower,-- But bears the impress, Lord, of Thee. Thy power the varied leaf designed, And gave the bird its thrilling tone; Thy hand the dewdrops' tints combined, Till like a diamond's blaze they shone.