THE PIGEON HOUSE.

LOOK! here's a pretty pigeon house!

In every narrow cell

A pigeon with his little wife

And family may dwell.

Their beds are only made of straw,
The rooms are dark and small;
But many though the pigeons be,
There's room enough for all.

Because they don't dispute and fret
For every little thing,
But live in love and gentleness,
At home and on the wing.

How soft and low their cooing sounds,
As each one says "Good-night!"
How cheerful when at early morn
They dress their feathers white.

Then far into the woods and fields,
To seek their food they fly,
Returning to their house betimes,
When sunset gilds the sky.

Blades and Flowers.

NOW THE SUN IS SINKING.

OW the sun is sinking

Now

In the golden west;

Birds and bees and children

All have gone to rest;

And the merry streamlet,
As it runs along,

With a voice of sweetness

Sings its evening song.

Cowslip, daisy, violet,

In their little beds,

All among the grasses
Hide their heavy heads;

Then they'll all, sweet darlings,

Lie in happy dreams,

Till the rosy morning

Wakes them with its beams.

- Selected.

LULLABY.

HROUGH Sleepy-land doth a river flow;

THE

On its further bank white daisies grow;
And snow-white sheep, in woolly floss,
Must, one by one, be ferried across.
In a little boat they safely ride

To the meadows green, on the other side.
Lullaby, sing lullaby!

The boatman comes to carry the sheep
In his little boat to the land of sleep;
Upon his head is a poppy wreath;

His eyelids droop, and his eyes beneath

Are drowsy from counting, "One, two, three,"

How many sheep does the baby see?

Lullaby, sing lullaby!

One little sheep has gone over the stream,
They press to the bank. How eager they seem!
Two little sheep, alone on the shore,

Only two sheep, but he's bringing one more;
Three little sheep, in the flowery fields,
Cropping the grass which Sleepy-land yields.
Lullaby, sing lullaby!

Four little, five little sheep now are over;
Six little, seven little sheep in the clover, -
Deep in the honey-sweet clover they stand.
Eight little, nine little sheep, now they land;
Ten, and eleven, and twelve little sheep! —
And baby, herself, is gone with them to sleep! -
Lullaby, sing lullaby!

- E. Cavazza — St. Nicholas.

TWINKLE, TWINKLE, LITTLE STAR.

WINKLE, twinkle, little star;

TWIN

How I wonder what you are!

Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.

When the blazing sun is gone,
When he nothing shines upon,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.

In the dark blue sky you keep,
And often through my curtains peep;
For
you never shut your eye
Till the sun is in the sky.

And your bright and tiny spark
Lights the traveler in the dark.

Though I know not what you are,

Twinkle, twinkle, little star.

- Jane Taylor.

THE STARS ARE COMING.

Sin the fair blue sky;

EE, the stars are coming

Mother, look, they brighten:
Are they angels' eyes?

No, my child, the lustre
Of the stars is given,
Like the hues of flowers,
By the God of heaven.

Mother, if I study,

Sure he'll make me know
Why the stars he kindled,
O'er our earth to glow.

Child, what God created
Has a glorious aim;

Thine it is to worship,

Thine to love his name.

THE

GOD'S FATHER-CARE.

HERE is no birdling in the nest the breeze rocks in the tree,

All featherless and fluttering, with eyes that cannot see, But brooding mother-wings are there to keep it snug and

warm,

And shelter it most lovingly from sunshine and from storm.

To every flitting butterfly the flower-cups open wide; Beneath the green leaf's canopy the meanest worm may hide;

Each tiny insect finds or builds some little house or cell, And in and out goes happily, contented there to dwell.

Now who has thought of all these things? Who planned and made them all?

The One who counts the shining stars, and suffers none to fall;

His tender Father-love is stretched o'er everything we see, And faileth never, night or day, to care for you and me. After the German of Hey - C. M. Harris.