A CRADLE HYMN. HUSH! my dear, lie still and slumber, How much better thou'rt attended 'Twas to save thee, child, from dying, Mayst thou live to know and fear Him, Then go dwell for ever near Him, See His face and sing His praise! THE BIBLE A LIGHT. SUPPOSE I were lost in a desolate land, With no one to comfort or guide me at hand, A child in the darkness of night; How glad should I be of some friend at my side, Who a lamp for my footsteps should kindly provide, To lend me its merciful light. 'Tis thus that we wander unsafe and forlorn, With dangers all round from the time we were born, How many like us have their journey begun, But yet in the darkness a light is bestowed, O Thou! who hast given thy word for our light, thee to make it the lamp of my night, I pray Till life and its dangers are past; The star of my darkness, the sun of my day, May it cheer with its shining each step of my way, And guide me to heaven at last. ON INSTINCT. WHO taught the bird to build her nest Of wool, and hay, and moss? Who taught the busy bee to fly Who taught the little ants the way And through the pleasant summer's day To gather up their store? 'Twas God who taught them all the way, And teaches children, when they pray, JANUARY brings the snow, February brings the rain, Thaws the frozen lake again. March brings breezes loud and shrill, Stirs the dancing daffodil. April brings the primrose sweet, May brings flocks of pretty lambs, August brings the sheaves of corn, Chill December brings the sleet, Blazing fire and Christmas treat.-Sara Coleridge. THE CITY CHILD'S COMPLAINT. “THE trees and the flowers are beautiful, The sky is blue and high, And the small streams make pleasant sounds As they run swiftly by. “But all these things are not for me, And scarcely through these dusty panes "I never hear the wild bird's song, Go trooping through the forest glades: "They say God's works are wonderful, I never see them, for man's works Oh, murmur not, thou little one, There is a voice can speak to thee, Speak with a sound as loud and clear Do not the works thou seest around Spring from man's thoughtful mind, And in that, is there nought of God, For thee, for all, to find? U The earth, with all its varied blooms, But man's immortal mind will live And without mind these sheltering walls Around thee had not been, These busy engines had not moved, No whirling wheels been seen! Mrs. E. Hawkshaw. MARCH. THE cock is crowing, The stream is flowing, The small birds twitter, The lake doth glitter, The green field sleeps in the sun; Are at work with the strongest ; The cattle are grazing, Their heads never raising; There are forty feeding like one! Like an army defeated On the top of the bare hill; The ploughboy is whooping-anon—anon! There's joy on the mountains; There's life in the fountains; Blue sky prevailing; The rain is over and gone! Wordsworth. |