THE RAIN.

"WHAT makes the rain, mamma?”

"The mists and vapor rise

From land and stream and rolling sea,
Up toward the distant skies;

And there they form the clouds,
Which, when they're watery, dear,
Pour all the water down to earth,

And rain afar or near."

- Mother Truth's Melodies.

S

THE LITTLE ARTIST.

H, there is a little artist.

OH,

Who paints in the cold night hours

Pictures for wee, wee children,

Of wondrous trees and flowers,

Pictures of snow-capped mountains
Touching the snow-white sky;
Pictures of distant oceans,

Where pygmy ships sail by;

Pictures of rushing rivers,

By fairy bridges spanned; Bits of beautiful landscapes, Copied from elfin land.

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.

- Selected.

"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!"

FROST PICTURES.

PICTURES on the window,

Painted by Jack Frost,

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.

-Selected.

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.

- Selected.

THE FROST.

HE Frost looked forth one still, clear night,

THEnd 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,