Choose you this day whom you will serve,
Choose on whose side you will stand;
Will you stand with the throng,
Who uphold the wrong,
Or be led by the nail-pierced hands?

Consider the wages, tally the cost,
If to Satan's dark paths you should stray;
How tragic if all of God's blessings be lost,
And eternal damnation your pay!

So hasten to join in the battle for truth,
Take a stand for the Saviour today;
Surrender to Jesus your talents, your youth,
Much is lost each hour you delay!

Choose me your Valentine;
Next, let us marry:
Love to the death will pine,
If we long tarry.

Promise, and keep your vowes,
Or vow ye never:
Loves doctrine disallowes
Troth-breakers ever.

You have broke promise twice
(Deare) to undoe me;
If you prove faithlesse thrice,
None then will wooe ye.

Chook, chook, chook, chook, chook,
Good morning, Mrs. Hen.
How many chickens have you got?
Madam, I've got ten.
Four of them are yellow,
And four of them are brown,
And two of them are speckled red,
The nicest in the town.

(Sung by the savages as they danced round the Latin grammar master, in a hamper with his head shaved, while two savages floured him, before putting him to the fire to be cooked)
Choo a choo a choo tooth.
Muntch, muntch. Nycey!
Choo a choo a choo tooth.
Muntch, muntch. Nycey!

Chloris farewell, I now must go
For if with thee I here do stay
Thine eyes prevaile upon me so,
I shall grow blind and lose my way.

Fame of thy Beauty and thy Youth,
Among the rest me hither brought,
Finding this fame fall short of truth,
Made me stay longer than I thought.

For I'm engag'd by word and oath
A servant to another's will;
Yet for thy love would forfeit both,
Could I be sure to keepe it still.

But what assurance can I take,
When thou fore-knowing this abuse,
For some more worthy Lover's sake,

Chimney-sweeper's boy am I, A
Pity my wretched fate!
Ah, turn your eyes; 'twould draw a tear,
Knew you my helpless state.

Far from my home, no parents I
Am ever doomed to see;
My master, should I sue to him,
He'd flog the skin from me.

Ah, dearest madam, dearest sir,
Have pity on my youth;
Though black, and covered o'er with rags,
I tell you naught but truth.

A child's a plaything for an hour;
Its pretty tricks we try
For that or for a longer space;
Then tire, and lay it by.

But I knew one that to itself
All seasons could control;
That would have mocked the sense of pain
Out of a grieved soul.

Thou straggler into loving arms,
Young climber up on knees,
When I forget thy thousand ways,
Then life and all shall cease.

The children wandered up and down,
 Seeking for driftwood o'er the sand;
The elder tugged at granny's gown,
 And pointed with his little hand.

“Look! look!” he cried, “at yonder ship
 That sails so fast and looms so tall!”
She turned, and let her basket slip,
 And all her gathered treasure fall.

“Nay, granny, why are you so pale?
 Where is the ship we saw but now?”
“Oh, child, it was no mortal sail!
 It came and went, I know not how.

“But ill winds fill that canvas white
 That blow no good to you and me.

Children of yesterday,
Heirs of tomorrow,
What are you weaving?
Labor and sorrow?
Look to your looms again.
Faster and faster
Fly the great shuttles
Prepared by the Master;
Life's in the loom,
Room for it—
Room!

Children of yesterday,
Heirs of tomorrow,
Lighten the labor
And sweeten the sorrow.
Now, while the shuttles fly
Faster and faster,
Up and be at it,
At work with the Master;
He stands at your loom,
Room for Him—
Room!

Children of yesterday,
Heirs of tomorrow,

Children , do you ever,
In walks by land or sea,
Meet a little maiden
Long time lost to me!

She is gay and gladsome,
Has a laughing face,
And a heart as sunny;
And her name is Grace.

Naught she knows of sorrow,
Naught of doubt or blight;
Heaven is just above her —
All her thoughts are white.

Long time since I lost her,
That other Me of mine;
She crossed into Time's shadow
Out of Youth's sunshine.

Now the darkness keeps her;
And, call her as I will,
The years that lie between us