Were the whole realm of nature mine, That were a present far too small: Love so amazing, so divine Demands my soul, my life, my all.

There's not a plant or flower below but makes Thy glories known, And clouds arise, and tempests blow by order from Thy throne; While all that borrows life from Thee is ever in Thy care; And everywhere that we can be, Thou, God art present there.

Hush! my dear, lie still and slumber, Holy angels guard thy bed! Heavenly blessing without number Gently falling on thy head.

But, children, you should never let Such angry passions rise; Your little hands were never made To tear each other's eyes.

Fancy and humour, early and constantly indulged in, may expect an old age overrun with follies.

Logic helps us to strip off the outward disguise of things, and to behold and judge of them in their own nature.

And he that does one fault at first And lies to hide it, makes it two.