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A SQUIRREL, he sat on the topmost limb
And there as he sat gently fanned by the breeze,
A poor wounded Dove came and perched by his side, And to his "Good morning," thus trembling replied:
"I warn you, Sir Squirrel, to run for your life,
"Take warning, I pray you, from my bleeding breast, And hasten away to your leaf-guarded nest." "Pooh! pooh!" quoth the Squirrel, "I scorn thus to I fear not the hunter, his dog, nor his gun.' [run.
"Good-bye, then, Sir Squirrel, ere yet 'tis too late,
But soon came the hunter, with dog and with gun,
We are apt to forget, in prosperity's hour, [lower;
PREPARING FOR SUNDAY.
HASTE! put your playthings all away,
Bring me your German village, please,
THE WET SPARROW.
Now take your Sunday pictures down;
There is your hymn-book. You shall learn
M. L. DUNCAN.
THE WET SPARROW.
How heavy the rain is that falls on the ground!
It shakes the large drops from the branches aroundAnd see! it has torn all the leaves from that rose.
I'm glad I'm within doors, so warm and so dry, Where the rain cannot wet me that beats on the pane;
But what is that hopping so quietly by?
"Tis a poor
It cannot find shelter, for wet is each tree,
Mamma, may I take the poor sparrow a shawl!
A shawl would but trouble the sparrow, my child; It has clothing still softer and warmer than yours, Which never wears out, nor by wetting is spoiled ;
For through summer and winter its beauty endures.
Now, look at it closer, and see how 't is drest
It is covered with feathers of many a shade: Its tail sober brown is, and white is its breast, And in coat black and grey it is neatly arrayed.
For God, who so kindly gives comforts to you, Takes care of the sparrow, and clothes it, and feeds;
He warmly protects it from rain and from dew,
And see it has flown to its home on the tree,
'Mong the thick bowery leaves, where secure it can hide,
Or can soar on its pinions, all joyous and free,
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN.
A SPIDER is a little thing,
By which a nation shall be stirred ;
A little counsel rightly given,
May lift a sinful soul to heaven.
Would waste old Rothschild's wealth away;
A little needle in the eye,
The kindest household may divide;