"Oh, mother," he would sometimes say, "why has God made me so?

What use am I? What work is mine ?" and then the tears

"Nay, nay, my child, have patience still; be sure the words are

true,

"God has a plan for every man,' and He has one for you."

The sound of war was swelling then around that fair free land, But her sons had sworn that on her soil no foeman's foot should stand;

And on each height a sentry stood, with keen unwearying eyes,
The watch-fire's blaze to kindle, should enemies surprise.

The cripple slept at midnight hour, but woke he knew not why,
A secret impulse called him forth beneath the starry sky,
Then led him up he knew not where, until at last he stood
Upon the height beside the pile, the signal-pile of wood.

There was no sentry at his post, the place was lone and still ;Hush! hark! see, see those stealthy men just creeping round the hill!

Now, cripple-boy, there's work for you; your mother's words are true.

God has a plan for every man, and this is His for you.

He seized the match with eager hand, he had no thought of fear, One moment and the flames burst forth: they saw it far and

near;

They saw it too, those baffled foes, they knew their chance was

o'er,

One shot they fired, and down they went back to their camp

once more.

And where was he, the feeble child, so weak and yet so brave? So mean, and yet so honoured, thus his native vale to save ? Alas! that shot had stretched him low, and on the grass he lay, His dauntless heart rejoicing while his life's blood ebbed away.

They bore him to his home at length; there was triumph in his

eye,

Oh, mother, do not weep for me; I'm happy thus to die!

I could not ask for longer life, for I have lived to see,

God has a plan for every man,' and he had one for me!"

32

GOOD-BYE TO SUMMER.

OOD-BYE, good-bye to summer!
For summer's nearly done;
The garden faintly smiling;
Cool breezes in the sun;
Our thrushes now are silent,
Our swallows flown away,

But Robin's here in coat of brown,
And scarlet breast-knot gay.

Robin, Robin Redbreast,

O Robin dear!

Robin sings so sweetly

In the falling of the year.

Bright yellow, red, and orange,
The leaves come down in hosts;

The trees are Indian princes,1

But soon they'll turn to ghosts;
The leathery pears and apples
Hang russet on each bough;
It's autumn, autumn, autumn late,
"Twill soon be winter now.

1 The bright colour of the leaves is like royal robcs.

Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!

And what will this poor Robin do,
For pinching days are near.
The fire-side for the cricket,

The wheatstack for the mouse,
When trembling night-winds whistle
And moan all round the house;
The frosty ways like iron,

The branches plumed with snow-
Alas! in winter dead and dark,
Where can poor Robin go?
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!

And a crumb of bread for Robin,
His little heart to cheer.

33

REASONS FOR MIRTH.

THE sun is careering in glory and might, 'Mid the deep blue sky and the clouds so bright; The billow is tossing its foam on high,

And the summer breezes go lightly by;

The air and the water dance, glitter, and play-
And why should not I be as merry as they?
The linnet is singing the wild wood through,
The fawn's bounding footstep skims over the dew,
The butterfly flits round the blossoming tree,
And the cowslip and blue-bell are bent by the bee:
All the creatures that dwell in the forest are gay,
And why should not I be as merry as they?

36

- 34

LITTLE BIRD! LITTLE BIRD!

ITTLE Bird! little bird! come to me!
I have a green cage ready for thee;
Beauty-bright flowers I'll bring to you,
And fresh, ripe cherries, all wet with
dew."

66

Thanks, little maiden, for all thy

care,

But I dearly love the clear, cool air,

And my snug little nest in the old oak tree;"
"Little bird! little bird! stay with me."
"Nay, little damsel; away I'll fly
To greener fields and a warmer sky;
When Spring returns with pattering rain,
You will hear my merry song again."
"Little bird! little bird! who'll guide thee
Over the hills, and over the sea?
Foolish one, come into the house to stay,
For I'm very sure you'll lose your way."

"Ah, no, little maiden! God guides me
Over the hills, and over the sea;
I will be free as the rushing air,
Chasing the sun-light everywhere."

35

THE SHEPHERD'S DOG.

WAS in the flowery month of June,
When hill and valley glows

With purple heath and golden whin,
White thorn and crimson rose;

When balmy dews fall soft and sweet,
And linger half the day,

Until the sun, with all his heat,
Can scarce clear them away;

Amid the Grampian mountains1 dun,
A shepherd tended sheep,
And took with him his infant son
Up to a craggy steep.

The sheep lay scattered far and wide;
The sky was high and clear;
The shepherd's dog pressed close besido
The child so fair and dear.

The father and his darling boy

Lay dreaming on the hill,

Above them all was light and joy;

Around them, all was still.

When, hark! a low and distant bleat
Broke on the shepherd's ear,
He quickly started to his feet-
Dark mists were gathering near.

1 In Scotland, between Perthshire and Inverness-shiro.