"Why should you task yourself to toil, And gather heaps of useless spoil, Still of the future dreaming? Look up, and see how fair the flowers, "But I forgot-poor, helpless thing! "Why, you might just as well have been Shut out from gardens gay and green, An inmate of the city, As live in this delightful spot :- The Ant heard all he had to say; "You think my toilsome lot is hard; They parted:-in a few months more, And there he kept, all snug and warm, Then, with the blithe and busy bee, He came out from his burrow! BERNARD BARTON. THE WET SPARROW. "How heavy the rain is that falls on the ground! How cold is the wind through the garden that blows! It shakes the large drops from the branches around And see it has torn all the leaves from the rose. "I'm glad I'm within doors, so warm and so dry, Where the rain cannot wet me, that beats on the pane; But what is that, hopping so quietly by? 'Tis a poor little sparrow that's out in the rain. "It cannot find shelter, for wet is each tree, And no clothing it has to protect it at all. Ah! poor little creature, how cold it must be! Mamma, may I take the poor sparrow a shawl?" "A shawl would but trouble the sparrow, my child; It has clothing still softer and warmer than yours; Which never wears out, nor by wetting is spoil'd; For through winter and summer its beauty endures. "Now, look at it closer, and see how 'tis drest; It is cover'd with feathers of many a shade; Its tail sober brown is, and white is its breast, And in coat black and grey it is neatly array'd. "For God, who so kindly gives comfort to you, Takes care of the sparrow, and clothes it, and feeds; He warmly protects it from rain and from dew, And gives it the shelter and rest that it needs. "And see! it has flown to its home in the tree, 'Mong the thick bow'ry leaves, where secure it can hide, Or can soar on its pinions, all joyous and free, As happy as you, when you sport at my side." LUNDIE MARY DUNCAN. BE KIND TO EACH OTHER. Be kind to each other, The night's coming on How sweet to have earn'd The blest recollection Of kindness return'd! Alike may be gone! CHARLES SWAIN. THE FIRESIDE. "SAY, what have you brought to our own fireside?" 'Twas a mother's voice that spake; "The wintry tempest doth loudly chide, But peace and joy shall with us abide : Oh cherish them for my sake. A common stock is our happiness here, Then the studious boy from his storied page And shine like a flame through the frost of A girl was there, like a rose on its stem, age By a pale, sick child, was a treasure brought, The smile of patient trust, For disease had a precious moral wrought, And quiet and pure was her chasten'd thought, As a pearl by the rude sea nurs'd. |