Children, is it not worth while to try and see if you cannot yourselves do something, and induce others to join you, and see how much money you can save, and make in the coming year? Do not ask your parents for money just to throw into a box, but give that which you would have spent in some other way. And then see if you have not ingenuity enough to find out some plan of earning money for the sake of doing good with it. Depend upon it, your interest in benevolent objects will increase from the very moment that you deny yourself for the sake of giving to others. Think what it would be to have even _one soul_ saved from among the poor benighted heathen, to rise up in the last great day, and call you, yes _you_, my little reader, blessed. Try it, and with daily prayers for the blessing of God upon your efforts, see what you can do for the heathen; remembering, that "he that converteth a _single_ sinner from the error of his way, shall save a _soul from death_, and shall hide a multitude of sins." [Illustration] _Good Resolutions._ Though I'm now in younger days, Nor can tell what shall befall me, I'll prepare for every place Where my growing age shall call me. Should I e'er be rich or great, Others shall partake my goodness: I'll supply the poor with meat, Never showing scorn nor rudeness. Where I see the blind or lame, Deaf or dumb, I'll kindly treat them; I deserve to feel the same, If I mock, or hurt, or cheat them. If I meet with railing tongues, Why should I return them railing? Since I best revenge my wrongs By my patience never failing. 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. What though 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. If I should be poor and sick, I shall meet, I hope, with pity; Since I love to help the weak, Though they're neither fair nor witty. I'll not willingly offend, 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, Though it should be all the fashion. Wicked fashions lead to hell, Ne'er may I be found complying But in life behave so well, Not to be afraid of dying. [Illustration] * * * * * Transcriber's Note: Obvious punctuation errors were repaired. End of Project Gutenberg's Self-Denial, by American Sunday-School Union