Hymns, Songs, and Fables, for Young People Part 7

Image thou dost seem to me Of that which I may one day be, When I shall drop this robe of earth, And wake into a spirit's birth.

TO NATURE.

FROM THE GERMAN OF FREDERICK LEOPOLD, COUNT OF STALBERG.

Holy nature! fresh and free, Let me ever follow thee; By the hand, O, lead me still, Like a child, at thy sweet will.

When with weariness oppressed, I will on thy bosom rest, Breathe in pleasure from above, In thy mother-arms of love.

O, how well it is for me Thee to love, with thee to be!

Holy nature! sweet and free, Let me ever follow thee.

ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG COMPANION.

Farewell for a time!

Thou hast gone to that clime Where sickness and sorrow are o'er.

We loved thee when here, We shed the sad tear To think we shall see thee no more.

We weep not for thee, We remember that He Who made little children his care In his own fatherland Will reach you his hand, And comfort and welcome you there.

Our tears they will flow; But do we not know That thou art released from all pain?

Then weep not; for He Who walked on the sea Has said we shall all live again.

THE SABBATH IS HERE.

FROM KRUMACHER.

The Sabbath is here, it is sent us from heaven; Rest, rest, toilsome life, Be silent all strife, Let us stop on our way, And give thanks and pray To Him who all things has given.

The Sabbath is here, to the fields let us go; How fresh and how fair!

In the still morning air, The bright golden grain Waves over the plain; It is G.o.d who doth all this bestow.

The Sabbath is here; on this blessed morn No tired ox moans, No creaking wheel groans, At rest is the plough; No noise is heard now, Save the sound of the rustling corn.

The Sabbath is here; our seed we have sown In hope and in faith; The Father he saith Amen! Be it so!

Behold the corn grow!

Rejoicing his goodness we'll own.

The Sabbath is here; His love we will sing Who sendeth the rain Upon the young grain.

And soon all around The sickle will sound.

And home the bright sheaves we will bring.

The Sabbath is here; in hope and in love We sow in the dust, While humbly we trust Up yonder shall grow The seed which we sow, And bloom a bright garland above.

THE CHILD AT HER MOTHER'S GRAVE.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN.

In that little room of thine, Sweet sleep has come to thee; Ah, mother! dearest mother mine!

O, call me to that room of thine!

O, shut it not from me!

I would so gladly be with thee, And be thy child again; 'Tis cold and stormy here with me, 'Tis warm, and, O, so still with thee!

Ah! let me, let me in!

Thou took'st me gladly once with thee, So gladly held my hand; O, see, thou hast forsaken me!

Take me this time again with thee Into the heavenly land.

CHILD'S SONG.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN.

When at night I go to sleep, Fourteen angels are at hand;-- Two on my right their watches keep; Two on my left to bless me stand; Two hover gently o'er my head; Two guard the foot of my small bed; Two wake me with the sun's first ray; Two dress me nicely every day; Two guide me on the heavenly road, That leads to paradise and G.o.d.

TO A FOUNTAIN.

FROM THE GERMAN OF RAMLER.

Lo! this fount is flowing ever; But the fountain prattles never.

Traveller! at this fountain stay; Learn of it, with pure endeavour, Good to do, and nothing say.

SONG FOR AN INFANT SCHOOL.

Children go To and fro, In a merry, pretty row, Footsteps light, Faces bright; 'Tis a happy sight.

Swiftly turning round and round, Do not look upon the ground.

Follow me, Full of glee, Singing merrily.

Birds are free, So are we; And we live as happily.

Work we do, Study too, For we learn "twice two"; Then we laugh, and dance, and sing, Gay as birds or any thing.

Follow me, Full of glee, Singing merrily.

Work is done, Play's begun; Now we have our laugh and fun.

Happy days, Pretty plays, And no naughty ways.

Holding fast each other's hand, We're a little happy band; Follow me, Full of glee, Singing merrily.

THE SUMMER.

A FREE TRANSLATION OF A GERMAN POPULAR SONG.

Go forth, my heart, and seek the bliss Of such a summer day as this, Bestowed on all by Heaven; The beauties of the garden see, Behold! it is for thee and me Its glories all are given.