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The various kinds of berry
Uncultered there do grow,
And all the birds are merry,
While to the feast they go.

His praises they are singing,
Who made the berries grow,
The air in which they're winging,
And all the fruits below.

Then let our hearts and voices
To God in songs arise ;
While nature all rejoices,
Through earth, and seas, and skies.

MY MOTHER.

Who fed me from her gentle breast,
And hushed me in her arms to rest,

And on my cheek sweet kisses pressed ?

My mother.

When sleep forsook my open eye,
Who was it sung sweet lullaby,
And rocked me that I should not cry?

My mother.

Who sat and watched my infant head,
When sleeping on my cradle bed,
And tears of sweet affection shed?

My mother.

When pain and sickness made me cry,
Who gazed upon my heavy eye,
And wept for fear that I should die ?

My mother.

Who dressed my doll in clothes so gay,
And taught me pretty how to play,

And minded all I had to say?

My mother.

Who ran to help me when I fell,
And would some pretty story tell,
Or kiss the place to make it well?

My mother.

Who taught my infant lips to pray,
And love God's holy book and day,
And walk in wisdom's pleasant way?

My mother.

And can I ever cease to be

Affectionate and kind to thee,
Who was so very kind to me?

My mother.

Ah! no, the thought I cannot bear,
And if God please my life to spare,
I hope I shall reward thy care,

My mother.

When thou art feeble, old, and gray,
My healthy arms shall be thy stay,
And I will soothe thy pains away,

My mother.

And when I see thee hang thy head, 'Twill be my turn to watch thy bed, And tears of sweet affection shed,

My mother.

For God, who lives above the skies,
Would look with vengeance in his eyes,
If I should ever dare despise,

MY FATHER.

My mother.

Who took me from my mother's arms,
And, smiling at her soft alarms,

Showed me the world, and nature's charms ?

Who made me feel and understand

The wonders of the sea and land,

My father.

And mark, through all, the Maker's hand?

My father.

Who climbed with me the mountain height, And watched my look of dread delight, While rose the glorious orb of light?

My father.

Who, from each flower and verdant stalk,
Gathered a subject for our talk,
To fill the long, delightful walk ?

Not on a poor worm would he tread,
Nor strike the little insect dead;

My father.

Who taught at once my heart and head ?

My father.

Who taught my early mind to know
The God from whom all blessings flow,
Creator of all things below ?

My father.

Soon, and before the mercy-seat,
Spirits made perfect, we shall meet !
Then with what transports shall I greet,

My father.

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