C

June ist.

JUNE.

"OME on, come on! 'tis summer-time, The golden year is in its prime ! June speeds along 'mid flowers and dews, Rainbows, clear skies, and sunset hues ; And hark, the cuckoo ! and the blithe Low ringing of the early scythe !

Anon.

June 20.

WHAT BABY SAYS.

WHAT

HAT does little baby say
In her nest at peep of day?

Baby says, like little birdie,
Let me rise and fly away.
Baby, sleep a little longer,
Till the little limbs are stronger.
If she sleeps a little longer
Baby, too, shall fly away.

Tennyson.

M

MARY ANN'S CHILD.

ARY-ANN was alone with her baby in arms,
Under the lofty elm tree,-

A prettier babe never did babble and smile

Up a-top of a proud mother's knee :

And his mother did toss him, and kiss him, and call Him her darling, and life, and her hope, and her all.

W. Barnes.

June 4th.

THE DOVE'S NEST,

LOOK, little Rose, with a careful eye,

'Tis the ring-dove's nest in that fir-tree high.

That is her nursery, there she loves
To sing and to coo to the baby doves.
I have heard said, that they never try
To quarrel or fight in that fir-tree high.
But gentle and peaceful they live in love;
And learn to coo like the mother-dove.

Children's Friend.

June 5th.

WHO PRAYETH BEST.

HE prayeth well, who loveth well

Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.

S. T. Coleridge.

R

BED-TIME.

OSEBUD lay in her trundle-bed,

With her small hands folded above her head; And fixed her innocent eyes on me,

While a thoughtful shadow came over their glee.
"Mother," she said, "when I go to sleep

I pray to the Father my soul to keep;
And he comes and carries it far away,
To the beautiful home where His angels stay."

Chatterbox.

M

June 7th.

MAUD MULLER.

AUD Muller, on a summer's day,
Raked the meadow sweet with hay.
Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth
Of simple beauty and rustic health.
Singing she wrought, and her merry glee
The mock-bird echoed from his tree.

Whittier.

F

June 8th.

FEEDING THE FAIRIES.

`AIRIES, fairies, come and be fed,

Come and be fed like hens and cocks;

Hither and thither with delicate tread,
Flutter around me in fairy flocks.
Come, little fairies, from far and near;
Come little fairies, I know you can fly;
Who can be dear if you are not dear?
And who is so fond of a fairy as I?

Poems written for a Child.