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I must not talk about my food,
Nor fret if I do 'nt think it good;
I must not "The bread is old;
"The tea is hot; " "The coffee 's cold;
I must not cry for this or that,
Nor murmur if my meat is fat;
My mouth with food I must not crowd,
Nor while I'm eating, speak aloud;
Must turn my head to cough or sneeze,
And when I ask, say, "If you please;"
The table-cloth I must not spoil,
Nor with my food my fingers soil;
Must keep my seat when I have done,
Nor round the table sport or run;
When told to rise, then I must put
My chair away with noiseless foot;
And lift my heart to GoD above,
In praise for all His wondrous love.

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"DEAR Mary," said the poor blind boy, "That little bird sings very long;

Say, do you see him in his joy,

And is he pretty as his song?"


"Yes, Edward, yes,” replied the maid, I see the bird on yonder tree;

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The poor boy sighed, and gently said— "Sister, I wish that I could see.

"The flowers, you say, are very fair,
And bright green leaves are on the trees,
And pretty birds are singing there,
How beautiful for one who sees!

"Yet, I the fragrant flowers can smell,

And I can feel the green leaf's shade,
And I can hear the notes that swell,
From those dear birds that God has made.

"So, sister, GOD to me is kind,

Though sight to me He has not given ;
But tell me, are there any blind
Among the children up in heaven?"

Ere long disease its hand had laid

On that dear boy, so meek and mild ;
His widow'd mother wept, and pray'd
That GOD would spare her sightless child.

He felt her warm tears on his face,
And said "Oh never weep for me;
I'm going to a bright, bright place,
Where God, my SAVIOUR, I shall see.


"And you'll be there, kind Mary, too;
But, mother, when you get up there,
Tell me, dear mother, that 't is you:
You know I never saw you here."

He spoke no more, but sweetly smiled,
Until the final blow was given,
When GOD took up that poor blind child,
And open'd first his eyes in heaven.



THE ground was all covered with snow one day,
And two little sisters were busy at play,
When a snow-bird was sitting close by on a tree,
And merrily singing his chick-a-de-de.

He had not been singing that tune very long,
Ere Emily heard him, so loud was that song;
"O sister! look out of the window," said she,
"Here's a dear little bird singing chick-a-de-de.

"Poor fellow! he walks in the snow and the sleet, And has neither stockings nor shoes on his feet! I pity him so-how cold he must be !

And yet he keeps singing his chick-a-de-de.


"If I were a bare-footed snow-bird, I know
I would not stay out in the cold and the snow;
I wonder what makes him so full of his glee?
He's all the time singing that chick-a-de-de.


"O mother! do get him some stockings and shoes,
And a nice little frock, and a hat if he choose;
I wish he'd come into the parlor and see
How warm we would make him, poor chick-a-de-de.

The bird had flown down for some pieces of bread,
And heard every word little Emily said;
“What a figure I'd make in that dress!" thought he,
And he laughed as he warbled his chick-a-de-de.

"I'm grateful," said he, " for the wish you express,
But I have no occasion for such a fine dress s;
I had rather remain with my limbs all free,
Than be hobbled about singing chick-a-de-de.

"There is One, my dear child, though I cannot tell
Has clothed me already, and warm enough too. [who,
Good morning! O, who are so happy as we?"
And away he went singing his chick-a-de-de.



POOR children, who are all the day
Allowed to wander out,
And only waste their time in play,
Or running wild about-

Who do not any school attend,
But idle as they will,

Are always certain in the end.

To come to something ill.

Some play is good to make us strong,
And school to make us wise;

But always play is very wrong,
And what we should despise.

There's nothing worse than idleness
For making children bad;
'Tis sure to lead them to distress,
And much that's very sad.

But how much better 't is to learn To count, and spell, and read! 'Tis best to play and work in turn"Tis very nice indeed.

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