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The moon is the lamp he paints by,
His canvas the window-pane,
His brush is a frozen snowflake;
Jack Frost is the artist's name.

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"SOME

JACK FROST.

OME one has been in the garden,
Nipping the flowers so fair;

All the green leaves are withered;

Now, who do you think has been there ›

"Some one has been in the forest,

Cracking the chestnut burrs; Who is it dropping the chestnuts, Whenever a light wind stirs ?

"Some one has been on the hilltop,
Chipping the moss-covered rocks;
Who has been cracking and breaking
Them into fragments and blocks?

"Some one has been at the windows,
Marking on every pane;
Who made those glittering pictures
Of lace-work, fir-trees, and grain?

"Some one is all the time working Out on the pond so blue, Bridging it over with crystal;

Who is it, now? Can you tell who?

"While his good bridge he is building, We will keep guard at the gate; And when he has it all finished,

Hurrah for the boys that can skate!

"Let him work on: we are ready;
Not much for our fun does it cost!

Three cheers for the bridge he is making!
And three, with a will, for Jack Frost!"

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FROST PICTURES.

on the window, Painted by Jack Frost,

PICTURES

Coming at the midnight,
With the noon are lost;
Here a row of fir-trees,
Standing straight and tall;

There a rapid river,

And a waterfall.

Here a branch of coral

From the briny sea;

There a weary traveler

Resting 'neath a tree;
Here a grand old iceberg,

Floating slowly on;

There a mighty forest

Of the torrid zone.

Here a swamp, all tangled, -
Rushes, ferns, and brake;
There a rugged mountain,
Here a little lake.

Then a breath, the lightest
Floating in the air,

Jack Frost catches quickly,
And imprints it there.

And thus you are painting,
Little children, too,
On your life's fair window
Always something new;

But your little pictures

Will not pass away

Like those Jack Frost's fingers
Paint each winter day.

Each kind word or action
Is a picture bright;

Every duty mastered

Is lovely in the light;
But each thought of anger,
Every word of strife,
Blemishes the picture,
Stains the glass of life.

Then be very careful,
Every day and hour,
Lest unseemly touches

Trace your window o'er;
Let the lines be always

Made by kindness bright,

Paint your glass with pictures

Of the true and right.

Selecteu

THE FROST.

HE Frost looked forth one still, clear night,

THE

And whispered, "Now I shall be out of sight' So through the valley and over the height,

In silence I'll take my way;

I will not go on like that blustering train,
The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain,
Who makes so much bustle and noise in vain,
But I'll be as busy as they!"

Then he flew to the mountain, and powdered its crest;
He lit on the trees, and their boughs he drest
In diamond beads; and over the breast

Of the quivering lake he spread

A coat of mail, that it need not fear
The downward point of many a spear,
That he hung on its margin, far and near,
Where a rock could rear its head.

He went to the windows of those who slept,
And over each pane like a fairy crept;
Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped,
By the light of the morn were seen

Most beautiful things; there were flowers and trees;
There were bevies of birds and swarms of bees;
There were cities with temples and towers; and these
All pictured in silver sheen!

But he did one thing that was hardly fair,-
He peeped in the cupboard, and finding there
That all had forgotten for him to prepare,
"Now, just to set them a-thinking,

I'll bite this basket of fruit," said he,
This costly pitcher I'll burst in three;
And the glass of water they've left for me
Shall 'tchick!' to tell them I'm drinking!"

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THE

HE snowflakes fall so gently,
You ne'er can hear a sound,
As sailing through the frosty air
They nestle on the ground.

They form a carpet, soft and white,
For merry little feet,

While cheeks grow round and rosy,
And laughter is so sweet.

Some children are like snowflakes, -
Their step is light and low,

And when they walk from place to place,

You ne'er can hear them go.

Oh, let us be like snowflakes,

So soft and pure and bright,

And when God looks into our souls,

He'll see a pleasing sight.

-M. M.

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