I love to think of what you said,
Mother, to me last night,

Of this great world that God has made,
So beautiful and bright.

And now it is the happy spring
No naughty thing I'll do ;
I would not be the only thing

That is not happy too.

MRS, FOLLEN.

THE SNAIL.

To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall,

The snail sticks close, nor fears to fall, As if he grew there, house and all

Together.

Within that house secure he hides,
When danger imminent betides
Of storm, or other harm besides

Of weather.

Give but his horns the slightest touch, His self-collecting power is such,

He shrinks into his house with much

Displeasure.

Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone,
Except himself has chattels none,
Well satisfied to be his own

Whole treasure.

Thus, hermit-like, his life he leads,
Nor partner of his banquet needs,
And if he meets one, only feeds

The faster.

Who seeks him must be worse than blind (He and his house are so combined),

If, finding it, he fails to find

Its master.

GOD IS GOOD.

GOD is good! Each perfumed flower,
The waving field, the dark green wood,
The insect fluttering for an hour,—
All things proclaim that God is good.

I hear it in each breath of wind;
The hills that have for ages stood,
And clouds, with gold and silver lined,
All still repeat that God is good.

Each little rill that many a year
Has the same verdant path pursued,
And every bird, in accents clear,

Join in the song that God is good.

The restless sea, with haughty roar,
Calms each wild wave and billows rude;
Retreats submissive from the shore,

And swells the chorus-" God is good."

The countless host of twinkling stars,
That sing His praise with light renew'd ;
The rising sun each day declares,
In rays of glory-God is good.

The moon, that walks in brightness, says
That God is good; and man endued
With power to speak his Maker's praise
Should still repeat that God is good.

FOLLEN.

THE BETTER LAND.

"I HEAR thee speak of a better land; Thou call'st its children a happy band: Mother! oh, where is that radiant shoreShall we not seek it, and weep no more?

Is it where the flower of the orange blows,

And the fireflies glance through the myrtle boughs ?"

-"Not there, not there, my child!"

"Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise,
And the date grows ripe under sunny skies;
Or 'midst the green islands of glittering seas,
Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze,
And strange bright birds, on their starry wings,
Bear the rich hues of all glorious things ?"

"Not there, not there, my child!"

"Is it far away in some region old,
Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold;
Where the burning rays of the ruby shine,
And the diamond lights up the secret mine,
And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand ?-
Is it there, sweet mother, that better land ?"

"Not there, not there, my child!"

"Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy!
Ear hath not heard its deep song of joy ;
Dreams cannot picture a world so fair—
Sorrow and Death may not enter there;
Time does not breathe on its fadeless bloom;
Beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb,

'Tis there, my child! 'tis there."

MRS. HEMANS.

THE LITTLE GIRL AND THE LAMB.

THE dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink; I heard a voice: it said, "Drink, pretty creature, drink;"

And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied A snow-white mountain lamb, with a maiden at its side.

No other sheep was near, the lamb was all alone, And by a slender cord was tether'd to a stone; With one knee on the grass did the little maiden kneel,

While to that mountain lamb she gave its evening meal.

"Rest, little one," she said; "hast thou forgot the

day

When my father found thee first, in places far away? Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert own'd by none,

And thy mother from thy side evermore was gone.

"Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought thee, in this can,

Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran; And twice, too, in the day, when the ground is wet with dew,

I bring thee draughts of milk-warm milk it is, and

new.