WHAT IS THAT, MOTHER?

WHAT is that, Mother?

The lark, my child;

The morn has but just look'd out and smiled,
When he starts from his humble grassy nest,
And is up and away with the dew on his breast,
And a hymn in his heart, to yon pure bright sphere,
To warble it out in his Maker's ear.

Ever, my child, be thy morn's first lays

Tuned, like the lark's, to thy Maker's praise.

What is that, Mother?

The dove, my son;

And that low, sweet voice, like a widow's moan,
Is flowing out from her gentle breast,
Constant and pure by that lonely nest,

As the wave is pour'd from some crystal urn,
For her distant dear one's quick return.
Ever, my son, be thou like the dove,

In friendship as faithful, as constant in love.

What is that, Mother?

The swan, my love;

He is floating down from his native grove.

No loved one now, no nestling nigh,

He is floating down by himself to die ;
Death darkens his eye, and unplumes his wings,
Yet the sweetest song is the last he sings.
Live so, my love, that when death shall come,
Swan-like and sweet, it may waft thee home.

What is that, Mother?

The eagle, boy;

Proudly careering his course of joy,

Firm on his own mountain vigour relying, Breasting the dark storms, the red bolt defying, His wing on the wind, and his eye on the sun, He swerves not a hair, but bears onward, right on. Boy, may the eagle's flight ever be thine, Onward and upward, and true to the line.

DOANE.

LULLABY.

WHAT does little birdie say,
In her nest at peep of day?
Let me fly, says little birdie;
Mother, let me fly away.
Birdie, rest a little longer,
Till thy little wings are stronger.
So she rests a little longer,
Then she flies away.

What does little baby say,
In her bed at peep of day?
Baby says, like little birdie,
Let me rise and fly away.
Baby, sleep a little longer,
Till thy little limbs are stronger.
If she sleeps a little longer,

Baby, too, shall fly away.

A. TENNYSON,

A BOY'S SONG.

WHERE the pools are bright and deep,
Where the grey trout lies asleep,
Up the river and over the lea,
That's the way for Billy and me.

Where the blackbird sings the latest,
Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest,
Where the nestlings chirp and flee,
That's the way for Billy and me.

Where the mowers mow the cleanest,
Where the hay lies thickest and greenest,

There to trace the homeward bee,
That's the way for Billy and me.

Where the hazel bank is steepest,
Where the shadow falls the deepest,
Where the clustering nuts fall free,
That's the way for Billy and me.

Why the boys should drive away
Little maidens in their play,
Or love to banter and fight so well,
That's the thing I never could tell.
But this I know, I love to play
Through the meadow among the hay;
Up the water and over the lea,
That's the way for Billy and me.

JAMES HOGG (the Ettrick Shepherd).

TO-MORROW.

"To-morrow, to-morrow, but not to-day!" That is what lazy people say; "To-morrow I'll work, not now! To-morrow that lesson hard I'll learn, To-morrow from that sad fault I'll turn, To-morrow I'll do it, I vow.

And why not to-day, pray, let me ask?
To-morrow will have its appointed task,
Each day will bring its own;

I cannot tell what may happen anew,
I can only see what is next to do,
And a thing once done is done.

He who advances not, must retreat,
Our moments go onward beat by beat,
Not one of them comes again.

To act in the present I still have scope,
But as to the future for which I hope,
May not that hope be vain!

In the book of my life, each useless day
That passes all unemploy'd away,
Is but an unwritten page.

Well, then, I'll keep striving on and on,
That some good deed on every one

May be written, from youth to age.

HYMN FOR A LITTLE BOY.

"WHAT, mother, makes it seem to me, When I am all alone,

As if some one could hear and see,
And all my thoughts were known?
"Sometimes it makes me very glad,
And dance and sing with joy;
Sometimes it makes me very sad,
And frights your little boy.

"Oh, tell me, mother, tell me why;
For I have never known
Why 'tis I laugh, or why I cry,

When I am all alone."

"My child, you never are alone;

There is a watchful eye

To which your very thoughts are known; 'Tis God is ever nigh.

"He made your little heart for joy,

He tunes your happy song;

Oh, then, my little timid boy,
Fear only doing wrong.

"For He who makes your heart so glad,

Who bids the good be gay,

With the same love will make it sad,

Whene'er you disobey.