A CHRISTMAS CAROL,

FOR TWO Brothers.

Brother, awake! our voices raise,
Our Great Redeemer's name to praise;
This the day He came on earth;
This day is our Redeemer's birth:

Then let us lift our little hands

To Him who gave His life for man's.

What though our voice be mild and weak? What though we scarce can plainly speak

The God of love will not disdain

To hear our lisping infant strain.

Then let us lift our little hands

To Him who gave His life for man's.

If only innocence be meet.
T'approach th' Almighty's mercy-seat,
We sure may dare to venture there,
And in our innocence appear;

So let us lift our little hands

To Him who gave His life for man's.

Our tongues ne'er yet have spoken guile,
Nor faces worn the scorner's smile;
Our hearts are yet from blemish free,
From malice, pride, hypocrisy.

For this let's lift our little hands

To Him who gave His life for man's.

To teach the stubborn heart to fear,
He'll listen to the infant's pray'r;
To Him the music of their tongue,
Is sweet as ever Angels sung.

Let us then lift our little hands

To Him who gave His life for man's.

He drew them gently to His side,
Promis'd to be their future guide;

Oh! how He held them to His breast

And with a parent's warmth caress'd!
For this let's lift our little hands

To Him who gave His life for man's.

Our innocence the Saviour gave,

To be men's pattern to the grave;

And warn'd them with the tend'rest care,

To be as meek as children are.

Let us then lift our little hands

To Him who gave His life for man's.

The special care of gracious Heav'n,
To infant innocence is giv'n:

E'en Angels on their footsteps wait
To guard their feeble, helpless state.
For this let's lift our little hands
To Him who gave His life for man's.

Then, brother, why should we despair,
Although we only infants are?

Why dread our Saviour's view to meet,
Who sits upon the mercy-seat?

Why fear to lift our little hands

To Him who gave His life for man's?

Rather let's raise our voices higher,
And louder strain our feeble choir;
Invoke His aid that He may save
Still pure the purity He gave :

While still we'll lift our little hands
To Him who gave His life for man's.

Then may we hope, when time is pass'd,
To join the heavenly choir at last,
For ever feel His fond embrace,

And view eternally His face;

And bless the hour we rais'd our hands

To Him who gave His life for man's.

ON A SUMMER-HOUSE,

BUILT ON CORSE-HILL BY J. HAWKINS, Esq.

Once on a time a wight was born,

A very Nimrod in the chase,

Who loved the sound of hound and horn,
Better than park, estate, or place.

But growing unable to pursue
This antidote to melancholy,

He rais'd a little house to view,
The people call'd it Jerry's Folly.

Here would he take his stand, and track Each well known covert, wood, and den, Frequented by Lord Seagrave's pack,

Who hunted all the country then.