Yet, tarry not! the gentle spring In this bright world of ours. C. PHILLIPS. THE POND AND THE BROOK. "NEIGHBOUR Brook," said the Pond one day, "Why do you flow so fast away? Sultry June is hastening on, And then your water will all be gone." "Nay, my friend," the Brook replied, "Do not thus my conduct chide ; Shall I rather hoard than give ? Better die than useless live. Summer came, and blazing June But the Brook with vigour flowed WE ARE SEVEN. I MET a little cottage girl : She was eight years old she said; She had a rustic woodland air, "Sisters and brothers, little maid "And where are they? I pray you tell," She answerd. "Seven are we; And two of us at Conway dwell, Two of us in the churchyard lie, "You say that two at Conway dwell, Yet ye are seven !-I pray you tell, Then did the little maid reply, "You run about, my little maid, Your limbs they are alive; If two are in the churchyard laid, ye are only five." Then "Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little maid replied, [door, "Twelve steps or more from my Mother's And they are side by side. My stockings there I often knit, And often after sunset, Sir, The first that died was sister Jane ; So in the churchyard she was laid; And when the ground was white with snow, "How many are you, then," said I "If they two are in heaven?" Quick was the little maid's reply, "But they are dead, those two are dead! T'was throwing words away; for still WORDSWORTH. THE WHITE DOVE. THERE sitteth a dove so white and fair, And she listeneth when to our Saviour dear, Lightly she spreads her friendly wings, And unto the Father in Heaven she bears, |