Happy, happy Sunday,

We will not toil to-day,
But leave to busy Monday

Our work, and toys, and play.
Thy face is ever smiling,

Thou fairest of the seven:
They only speak of toiling,

But thou of rest and heaven.

Happy, happy Sunday,"

The bell e'en seems to speak,

"Give thy Creator one day,

Who gives thee all the week."
We'll leave our daily labour,

To pay our homage there,
And seek, with friend and neighbour,
The open house of prayer.

Happy, happy Sunday,

Thy holy hours I prize,

Thou art indeed Heaven's own day,

The emblem of the skies.

May I, O Lord, inherit,

That rest when life is o'er,

And with each perfect spirit,

Adore Thee evermore.

SUNDAY SCHOOL RECITER.

SONG OF PRAISE TO GOD.

How glorious is our heavenly King,
Who reigns above the sky!
How shall a child presume to sing
His dreadful majesty ?

How great His power is none can tell,
Nor think how large His grace;
Not men below, nor saints that dwell
On high before His face;

Not angels that stand round the Lord
Can search His secret will:
But they perform His heavenly word,
And sing His praises still.

Then let me join this holy train,
And my first offerings bring:
The eternal God will not disdain
To hear an infant sing.

My heart resolves, my tongue obeys,
And angels shall rejoice

To hear their mighty Maker's praise
Sound from a feeble voice.

WATTS.

THE CHRISTIAN CHILD'S ALPHABET.

A is our Advocate, Jesus his name; B is the Babe, in weakness who came. C of salvation the Captain and Chief; D the Deliverer to bring you relief. E the Eternal, the Ancient of Days; F is the Faithful, all worthy of praise; G is our God, and our Guide from the fall; H is the Highest and Holiest of all. I is the Innocent Victim who bled; J is the Judge of the quick and the dead. K is our King, let our hearts be His throne; L is the Lamb that was slain to atone. M is Messiah, by prophets foretold; N is the Needful One, precious as gold. O the Omnipotent, make Him your stay; P is the Portion that ne'er shall decay. Q is the Queen, the church of Christ's choice; R the Redeemer,-oh, heed ye His voice. S is Salvation from hell and from sin; T is the Truth, let her rule you within. U the Unspeakable Gift of our God; V is the Vine, where each branch has abode. Wis the Way to the Father on high; X our example to live and to die.

Y is His Yoke that is easy to bear;

Z is His Zeal for the lambs of His care. SUNDAY SCHOOL RECITER.

THE INFANT'S HOME.

MAMMA, they say that Baby's dead
And dwells above the sky :

They tell me that the angels bore

His soul away on high.

They tell me that his tiny feet,

That just began to run,

Will never wear the scarlet shoes
That you so wish'd were done.
They tell me that he's happier far
Than rambling on the lawn ;

The tears are in your eyes, mamma,
Do tell me why you mourn.
If Georgy does but sleep above,

As oft you've said before,

Oh, why then mourn for him now here

Who's happy evermore?

MRS. J. L. ROBERT.

THE ENGLISH GIRL.

SPORTING on the village green,
The pretty English girl is seen;
Or beside her cottage neat,
Knitting on the garden seat.

Now, within her humble door,
Sweeping clean her kitchen floor;
While upon the wall, so white,
Hang her coppers, polish'd bright.

Mary never idle sits;

She either sews, or spins, or knits;
Hard she labours all the week,
With sparkling eye and rosy cheek.

And, on Sunday, Mary goes
Neatly dress'd, in decent clothes,
Says her prayers (a constant rule),
And hastens to the Sunday School.

Oh! how good should we be found,
Who live on happy, English ground;
Where rich and poor and wretched may
All learn to walk in Wisdom's way.

JANE TAYLOR.

HAY-MAKING.

In the hay, in the hay,

Toss we and tumble;

No one to say us nay,

All through this summer's day.
No one to grumble.