A Slight Specimen of Moral Songs
Such as I wish some happy and condescending Genius would undertake for the use of Children, and perform much better.
The sense and subjects might be borrow’d plentifully from the Proverbs of Solomon, from all the common appearances of nature, from all the occurrences in the civil life, both in city and country: (which would also afford matter for other divine songs). Here the language and measures should be easy and flowing with cheerfulness, and without the solemnities of religion, or the sacred names of God and holy things; that children might find delight and profit together.
This would be one effectual way to deliver them from the temptation of loving and learning those idle, wanton or profane songs, which give so early an ill taint to the fancy and memory, and become the seeds of future vices.
The Sluggard.
1 ’Tis the voice of the Sluggard. I heard him complain
“You have waked me too soon! I must slumber again!”
As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed,
Turns his sides, and his shoulders, and his heavy head.
2 “A little more sleep, and a little more slumber;”
Thus he wastes half his days, and his hours without number:
And when he gets up, he sits folding his hands
Or walks about sauntering, or trifling he stands.
3 I past by his garden, and saw the wild bryar
The thorn and the thistle grow broader and higher:
The clothes that hang on him are turning to rags;
And his money still wasts, still he starves, or he begs.
4 I made him a visit, still hoping to find
He had took better care for improving his mind:
He told me his dreams, talk’d of eating and drinking,
But he scarce reads his Bible, and never loves thinking.
5 Said I then to my heart, “Here’s a lesson for me,”
That man’s but a picture of what I might be:
But thanks to my friends for their care in my breeding:
Who taught me betimes to love working and reading!
Innocent Play.
1 Abroad in the meadows to see the young lambs,
Run sporting about by the side of their dams
With fleeces so clean, and so white;
Or a nest of young doves in a large open cage,
When they play all in love without anger or rage,
How much may we learn from the sight!
2 If we had been ducks, we might dabble in mud:
Or dogs, we might play till it ended in blood;
So foul, or so fierce are their natures.
But Thomas and William, and such pretty names,
Should be cleanly and harmless as doves, or as lambs,
Those lovely sweet innocent creatures.
3 Not a thing that we do, nor a word that we say,
Should injure another in jesting or play;
For he’s still in earnest that’s hurt.
How rude are the boys that throw pebbles and mire!
There’s none but a mad-man will fling about fire,
And tell you, “‘Tis all but in sport.”
The End
The TABLE.
1. A General Song of Praise to God.
2. Praise for Creation and Providence.
3. Praise to God for our Redemption.
4. Praise for mercies Spiritual and Temporal.
5. Praise for Birth and Education in a Christian Land.
6. Praise for the Gospel.
7. The Excellency of the Bible.
8. Praise to God for learning to read.
9. The All-seeing God.
10. Solemn Thoughts of God and Death.
11. Heaven and Hell.
12. The Advantages of early Religion.
13. The Danger of Delays.
14. Examples of early Piety.
15. Against lying.
16. Against Quarrelling and Fighting.
17. Love between Brothers and Sisters.
18. Against scoffing and calling Names.
19. Against swearing and cursing, and taking God’s Name in vain.
20. Against Idleness and Mischief.
21. Against Evil Company.
22. Against Pride in Clothes.
23. Obedience to Parents.
24. The Child’s Complaint.
25. A Morning Song.
26. An Evening Song.
27. An Hymn for the Lord’s Day Morning.
28. An Hymn for the Lord’s Day Evening.
The Ten Commandments.
The Sum of the Commandments.
Our Saviour’s Golden Rule.
Duty to God and our Neighbour.
The Hosanna in Long Metre.
in Common Metre.
in Short Metre.
Glory to the Father in Long Metre.
in Common Metre.
in Short Metre.
A slight Specimen of Moral Songs, viz.
The Sluggard.
Innocent Play.
The End of the Table.
ADDENDUM to the Moral Songs.
Song 3. The Rose. 12,8,12,8
How fair is the Rose! what a beautiful flower!
The glory of April and May:
But the leaves are beginning to fade in an hour,
And they wither and die in a day.
Yet the Rose has one powerful virtue to boast,
Above all the flowers of the field!
When its leaves are all dead and fine colours are lost,
Still how sweet a perfume it will yield!
So frail is the youth and the beauty of man,
Though they bloom and look gay like the Rose;
But all our fond care to preserve them is vain,
Time kills them as fast as he goes.
Then I’ll not be proud of my youth and my beauty,
Since both of them wither and fade;
But gain a good name by well doing my duty:
This will scent like a Rose when I’m dead.
Song 4. The thief 8,7,8,7
Why should I deprive my neighbour
Of his goods against his will?
Hands were made for honest labour,
Not to plunder, or to steal.
’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.
Have not Eve and Adam taught us
Their sad profit to compute,
To what dismal state they brought us
When they stole forbidden fruit?
Oft we see a young beginner
Practice little pilfering ways,
Till grown up a harden’d sinner,
Then the gallows ends his days.
Theft will not be always hidden,
Though we fancy none can spy:
When we take a thing forbidden,
God beholds it with his eye.
Guard my heart, O God of heaven,
Lest I covet what’s not mine;
Lest I steal what is not given,
Guard my heart and hands from sin.
Song 5. The ant, or emmet. 11,11,8,11,11,8
These Emmets, how little they are in our eyes!
We tread them to dust, and a troop of them dies,
Without our regard or concern:
Yet, as wise as we are, if we went to their school,
There’s many a sluggard and many a fool
Some lessons of wisdom might learn.
They wear not their time out in sleeping or play,
But gather up corn in a sunshiny day,
And for winter they lay up their stores:
They manage their work in such regular forms,
One would think they foresaw all the frosts and the storms,
And so brought their food withindoors.
But I have less sense than a poor creeping Ant,
If I take not due care for the things I shall want,
Nor provide against dangers in time;
When death or old age shall once stare in my face,
What a wretch shall I be in the end of my days,
If I trifle away all their prime!
Now, now, while my strength and my youth are in bloom,
Let me think what shall serve me when sickness shall come,
And pray that my sins be forgiven.
Let me read in good books, and believe, and obey;
That, when death turns me out of this cottage of clay,
I may dwell in a palace in heaven.
Song 6. Good resolutions. 7,8,7,8
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 or 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 or 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.
Song 7. Summer’s evening. 11,11,11,9
How fine has the day been! how bright was the sun!
How lovely and joyful the course that he run;
Though he rose in a mist when his race he begun,
And there followed some droppings of rain:
But now the fair traveller’s come to the west,
His rays are all gold, and his beauties are best;
He paints the skies gay as he sinks to his rest,
And foretells a bright rising again.
Just such is the Christian. His course he begins
Like the sun in a mist, while he mourns for his sins,
And melts into tears! then he breaks out and shines,
And travels his heavenly way:
But when he comes nearer to finish his race,
Like a fine setting sun, he looks richer in grace;
And gives a sure hope, at the end of his days,
Of rising in brighter array.
Song 8. Cradle hymn. 8,7,8,7
Hush, my dear! Lie still, and slumber!
Holy angels guard thy bed!
Heavenly blessings, without number,
Gently falling on thy head.
Sleep, my babe! thy food and raiment,
House and home, thy friends provide;
All without thy care or payment,
All thy wants are well supplied.
How much better thou’rt attended
Than the Son of God could be,
When from heaven he descended,
And became a child like thee!
Soft and easy is thy cradle:
Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay,
When his birthplace was a stable,
And his softest bed was hay.
Blessed Babe! what glorious features,—
Spotless fair, divinely bright!
Must he dwell with brutal creatures?
How could angels bear the sight?
Was there nothing but a manger
Cursed sinners could afford,
To receive the heavenly stranger?
Did they thus affront the Lord?
Soft, my child! I did not chide thee,
Though my song might sound too hard:
’Tis thy mother sits beside thee,
And her arm shall be thy guard.
Yet to read the shameful story.
How the Jews received their King,
How they served the Lord of Glory,
Makes me angry while I sing.
See the kinder shepherds round him,
Telling wonders from the sky!
Where hey sought him, there they found him,
With his Virgin-mother by.
See the lovely Babe a-dressing:
Lovely infant, how he smiled!
When he wept, his mother’s blessing
Sooth’d and hush’d the holy Child.
Lo, he slumbers in a manger,
Where the horned oxen fed!—
Peace, my darling, here’s no danger:
There’s no ox a-near thy bed.
’Twas so save thee, child, from dying,
Save my dear from burning flame,
Bitter groans and endless crying,
That thy blest Redeemer came.
May’st thou live to know and fear him,
Trust and love him all thy days,
Then go dwell for ever near him:
See his face, and sing his praise!
I could give thee thousand kisses!
Hoping what I most desire,
Not a mother’s fondest wishes
Can to greater joys aspire!