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With the rich stream his little life sustain;
Hush every wail, and soften every pain;
With ardent love survey each op'ning grace,
As angel smiles flit o'er his infant face;
Feel the full tide of rapture boundless rise,
When first his tongue the half-formed accent tries;
Or he with tiny feet essays to tread,

In mimic speed, the meadow's flowery bed.
With holier transport hears her lisping child
Breathe his pure homage to the Undefiled;
In the clasp'd hands-the serious, asking face-
The first impression of the Godhead trace—
That awe of Him, whose name can thus control
The opening mysteries of an infant's soul;
And as her arms the guiltless babe enfold,
Prays that his Maker's face he may behold;
That to her powers the christian zeal be given,
To guide this pilgrim of the earth to heaven.
These are the epochs of her happy life,
Dear to the mother-dearer to the wife,
Who sees her husband's image in his boy
Daily unfolding, with maternal joy;
Watchful to good, the heart and mind to win,
And make his son, in virtue, worthy him.

Woman!-the stay of childhood, guide of youth,
To lead man's footsteps in the path of truth-
Is formed to bless the riper years of life,
And prove a priceless treasure as a wife;
His changeful lot with faith unswerving share;
Each smile a blessing, and each sigh a prayer;
With hovering watchfulness, instinctive feel
If soothing words possess the power to heal.

'Tis her's to bear the word, or look unkind,
Nor cast one thought of sad reproach behind;
Should better feelings re-assume their sway
In him, it is her pleasure to obey.

Or if, in sickness, droops the weary eye,
Still with assiduous care to hover nigh;
With noiseless step to steal around his bed,
Cool the parch'd lip-sustain the aching head;
Or as the sharper throes of pain assail,

Quell her own grief to soothe his suffering wail;
Veil her deep anguish by a tender smile-
Hopeless herself, still whispering hope the while:
Bound up in him, self is remembered not,
Her very being in her love forgot!

Life is vicissitude-a shifting sand-
Where oft misfortune veils hope's promised land;
Where fairest prospects dwindle to a speck,
And leave the future but a gloomy wreck.
'Tis then, as darker grows the scene around,
That woman's love a quenchless light is found!
When gathering ill man's sterner nature tries,
Strong in her weakness, it is her's to rise!
Meekly to prove his never failing stay,
When hollow friends with fortune pass away;
Her own privations cheerfully to hide,
And lull the anguish of his wounded mind;
By secret toil, with care incessant win
The little comforts of his home for him;
In her own fortitude his spirit raise,
And give the soothing hope of brighter days.
The wife!-the mother!-all her feelings share,
Leaving no room for selfish sorrow there;

For woman's heart is of that precious ore, Which, deeper tried, becomes refined the more; And time will prove man's surest home of rest, His ark of comfort, is a woman's breast!

The glad companion of his happier hours, Her playful fancy strews his path with flowers. A docile pupil, when his mental lore

Leads her the book of knowledge to explore;
A gentle teacher, as by nature taught,

Shewakes to nobler aims the impassion'd thought;
Cleanses his spirit from each grosser stain,
Each sordid feeling of this world of gain;
Unlocks the hidden fountains of the soul,
And bids their waters flow without control
In purer channels, bounded by those ties
Where he alone can find unfading joys.

E'en when life's wasting lamp burns low & dim,
Still at his side, she is the world to him;
Her watchful care each little want supplies,
And marks his wishes with unwearying eyes;
With gentle heart revives the sinking fires,
Nor fails to cherish till the flame expires;
Feels in his loss the stay of life depart,
And wears his memory in her widow'd heart.

This is her destiny! Can woman's mind
E'er wish in life a nobler part to find?
Can she, aspiring, by ambition led,

Seek in the haunts of pomp or pride to tread,
Eager alone to dazzle or to shine,

False to herself, false to that power divine,

Who gave her sacred duties to fulfil,
And bade her live, and do his holy will?
No; let her happier lot for ever lie

Where heartfelt pleasures yield a guiltless joy,
Her's the sweet task to man through life to prove
The "help meet" God created in his love.

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"WELL, I have got a rabbit of my own at last," said little George Parker. "I have built a nice house, with a little yard for her to run in ; and it is such a pretty one. Come and look at it, Edward."

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Away they ran down to the new rabbit house, and looking over the fence, there they saw bunny, nibbling away at a cabbage leaf which George had thrown to her.

"And how did you manage, George, to get such a good rabbit house as this, and to buy this pretty creature? They must have cost ever so much. Did somebody give you the money?"

"No; but I'll tell you how I did it all. I told father I should like to keep some rabbits, and he said he had no objections, if I would take care of them, and make them a proper house, and mind and feed them. Father, you know, is a carpenter; and so he said I might have this piece of ground at the corner of the wood-yard to build a house on, and then he threw out a lot of boards for me to use; and Bill Johnson, my father's apprentice, helped me, and we worked away at it at dinner-times and after he had left work at night, and we got it done in a week."

"But how did you get money to buy this fine rabbit? It must have cost you eighteenpence."

"It cost me twenty-pence. When uncle was over at our house about six weeks since, he gave me sixpence for repeating to him the first Psalm, and the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah, and the sermon on the mount. And mother gives me a penny every Satur

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