SONG OF THE LABOURER.

GIVE me the clear, fresh water
That sparkles in the sun;

There's nothing like it to refresh,

When work has to be done.

M

66

SONG OF THE LABOURER.

I'll take

my

basket in my hand,

And sit beside the brook,

And while I eat my humble meal
My heart to God shall look.

I'll bless Him that He keeps my soul,
And for my wants provides;
And gives me, with His many gifts,

A sober mind besides.

WHAT music there is in the sea's wild roar; The threatening waves, how grand,

As they break into foam on the rocky shore, Or dash on the yielding sand.

CS

THE SEA SHORE.

How lonely it looks, and how far away,
The place where it meets the sky;

I think I could stand a whole summer's day
As the beautiful waves roll by.

On the sands, and the rocks, and the pebbly beach,

What delicate shells I see;

As far as the tide can come they reach,
Washed up by the waves for me.

All these, though so small and so finely made,
Are the work of GOD's mighty hand,
Who the depths of the sea in order laid,
And stretched out the pathless sand.

There's nothing too small for His gracious care,
And nothing beyond His might;

His wonderful works with one voice declare
How great is the Lord of light.

And this is the Lord who so gently calls

Poor children to love His name ;

Dear Lord! I would low at Thy footstool fall,

And Thy power and grace proclaim.

F. P.

Pretty Robin Redbreast,

Hopping in the snow,

Why are you so early here,

I should like to know?

Did Mrs. Redbreast send you, pray,

To get a dainty crumb,

And bid you bring your little ones

A tiny morsel home?