Sunday.

A poem by H. P. Nichols

God made the day of rest,
The holy Sabbath day,
For us to think and talk of Him,
And not for work or play.

I'll put away my toys
Safely, the night before;
And Sundays I'll be very still,
Till Monday comes once more.

And then mamma will say,
That, though I am so small,
I yet can please the great, good God,
Who takes care of us all.

I love these Sabbath days,
Which God to us doth give;
And may I love them more and more,
Each day and year I live!

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