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Aneityum Aniwa Annie asked beautiful better Bible birds blessed bright called child Christ church Cumin Cyprus dark Dayspring dear earth Edinburgh Eromanga eyes faith father flowers friends girl give glad God's Golden Text gospel hand happy hear heard heart heaven Hebrides holy hymns IBYCUS Isaac Watts island Izaak Walton John John Kay JOHN KEBLE Johnnie kind king land learned lesson light lived look Memory verses missionary morning mother never night o'er Paisley PEIZE PHILIP DODDRIDGE poor praise pray prayer Price One Halfpenny PRIZE Ralph Erskine round Sabbath Sabbath school Saviour Silverlocks sing sister sleep song soul spirit story sure sweet Tanna teacher teetotal tell Thee things Thou thought told tree trust unto walk wonder words young Zwingle
Página 117 - Thou shalt also be a crown of glory in the hand of the Lord, and a royal diadem in the hand of thy God.
Página 38 - Hast thou given the horse strength ? Hast thou clothed his neck with thunder ? Canst 'thou make him afraid as a grasshopper? The glory of his nostrils is terrible. He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength : He goeth on to meet the armed men. He mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted ; Neither turneth he back from the sword.
Página 32 - But peaceful was the night Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began...
Página 113 - Prayer is the burden of a sigh ; The falling of a tear ; The upward glancing of an eye When none but God is near.
Página 60 - Now the parable is this : The seed is the word of God. Those by the way-side are they that hear; then cometh the devil, and taketh away the word out of their hearts, lest they should believe and be saved.
Página 127 - New mercies each returning day Hover around us while we pray ; New perils past, new sins forgiven, New thoughts of God, new hopes of heaven.
Página 56 - Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take, The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break In blessings on your head...
Página 56 - I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot. Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more. Children not thine have trod my nursery floor; And where the gardener Robin, day by day, Drew me to school along the public way, Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapped In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet capped, 'Tis now become a history little known, That once we called the pastoral house our own.
Página 137 - From India's coral strand, Where Afric's sunny fountains Roll down their golden sand ; From many an ancient river, From many a palmy plain, They call us to deliver Their land from error's chain.