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A NICE little Sunflower, just over the way,
Oh, no! but the season is getting quite late;
A lesson I learn from the Sunflower so neat,
feet," Who called it to bloom; and may you and may I The place that we fill with our lives beautify.
And this, too, I read in the Sunflower's sweet
face: To fill well a low place is never disgrace. Make the most of your time and your talents, tho'
small; Better bloom in a low place than not bloom at all.
S. M. Parker.
FAITH AND WORKS.
LITTLE Mollie and Faith, in the arbor at play,
Were making a marigold crown, When a noise on the lawn made the little ones jump
And scatter the gold flowers down.
And fast toward the bower of blossoms and vines
Came a quadruped, bristling and big, With sharp-pointed toes, and a queer, grunty nose,
In short, 'twas a terrible pig.
“Oh, mercy!” screamed Faith, “where, where
shall we go? Oh, mamma, oh, papa, come here! He's going to tear us to pieces, I know,"
And she jumped up and down in her fear.
But Mollie, more brave, raised the old crooked
gate, And slammed it quite hard to its place; Then Faith, kneeling down on the moss-covered
ground, Toward the sky turned her little pale face.
“Now, Mollie, I'll pray to our Father in heaven
To save us and drive him away. That's the very best thing in the world to be done;
You hold the gate strong while I pray.”
Dear mamma's blue eyes twinkled bright through
William H. Montgomery.
A LOST CHILD.
Poor little frightened baby!
And softly whispered, “ Maybe.”
I can't find you without it.” “My name is Shiny-eyes,” she said. “ Yes; but your last name?” She shook her head: “Up to my house 'ey never said
A single word about it.” “But, dear," I said, “what is your name ?”
“Why, didn't you hear me told you? Dust Shiny-eyes.” A bright thought came: “Yes, when you're good. But when they blame You, little one,- is it just the same
When mamma has to scold you?”
“My mamma never scolds,” she moans,
A little blush ensuing, "'Cept when I've been a-frowing stones; And then she says [the culprit owns),• Mehitabel Sapphira Jones, What has you been a-doing?'"
Anna E. Burnham,
High and low the children hunted,
Rosy-cheeked and eager-eyed,
Where the tiniest mouse might hide,
Crimson, purple, pink, and green;
Surely is not often seen.
But wee Bessie's eyes were cloudy;
Not a single egg she'd found,
Half-a-dozen, all around.
“ She is such a little mite
Though we put them plain in sight."
“Never mind;" and grandma, smiling,
Raised the drooping, golden head, Coaxing back the merry dimples,
“Never mind, my dear,” she said. “Hark! I heard a biddy cackling,
There's an Easter-egg for you." Waiting for no second telling,
To the barn the children flew.
Back again, a moment later,
Rushed the joyous little band; “Well, and did you find the egg, dear ?"
Bess unclosed her chubby hand. “ Didn't biddy know 'twas Easter ?”
Questioned she, in serious way, "'Cause, you see, she's laid a white one, Dust the same as any day!”
THE baby's rosy fingers found
So oft their curious way
We had to tell her nay.
She knew the words full well.