THE OLD COTTAGE CLOCK. H! the old clock of the household stock Was the brightest thing and the neatest; Its hands, though old, had a touch of gold, And its chime rang still the sweetest. "T was a monitor, too, though its words were few, Yet they lived through nations altered; And its voice, still strong, warned old and young When the voice of friendship faltered; "Tick, tick," it said "quick, quick to bedFor nine I've given warning; Up, up and go, or else you know, You'll never rise soon in the morning." A friendly voice was that old, old clock, And blessed the time, with a merry chime, But a cross old voice was that tiresome clock, As it called at daybreak boldly, When the dawn looked gray on the misty way, "Tick, tick," it said-"quick, out of bed For five I've given warning ; You'll never have health, you'll never get wealth, 322 THE OLD COTTAGE CLOCK. Still hourly the sound goes round and round, While tears are shed for the bright days fled, Its heart beats on, though hearts are gone Its hands still move, though hands we love "Tick, tick," it said-"to the churchyard bed- Up, up and rise, and look to the skies, -Christian Intelligencer. A LITTLE WORD. A little word in kindness spoken, A motion or a tear, Has often healed the heart that's broken! And made a friend sincere. A word--a look-has crushed to earth, Would bless life's darkest hour. Then deem it not an idle thing, The face you wear, the thoughts you bring, I SAW THEE WEEP. GEORGE G. BYRON. I saw thee weep-the big bright tear I saw thee smile-the sapphire's blaze It could not match the living rays As clouds from yonder sun receive Which scarce the shade of coming eve Can banish from the sky, Those smiles unto the moodiest mind Their own pure joy impart; Their sunshine leaves a glow behind, 1 油茶 NAPOLEON AT REST. J. PIERPONT. IS falchion flashed along the Nile, His host he led through Alpine snows; .O'er Moscow's towers, that blazed the while, His eagle-flag unrolled-and froze! Here sleeps he now, alone!-not one, Of all the kings whose crowns he gave, Bends o'er his dust; nor wife nor son Has ever seen or sought his grave. Behind the sea-girt rock, the star That led him on from crown to crown Has sunk, and nations from afar Gazed as it faded and went down. High is his tomb: the ocean flood, Far, far below, by storms is curled- Alone he sleeps: the mountain cloud, That night hangs round him, and the breath |