EVERY LITTLE HELPS.

Suppose a bright green leaf, that grows

Upon the rosebush near,
Should say, because I'm not a rose,

I will not linger here;

Or that a dew-drop, fresh and bright,
Upon that fragrant flower,
Should say, I'll vanish out of sight,
Because I'm not a shower!

Suppose a little child should say,
Because I'm not a man,

I will not try, in word or play,
To do what good I can!

Dear child, each star some light can give,
Though gleaming faintly there;

Each rose-leaf helps the plant to live,
Each dew-drop keeps it fair!

And our good Father who's in heaven,
And doth all creatures view,

To every little child has given

Some needful work to do:

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Kind deeds toward those with whom you live,
Kind words and actions right,

Shall 'mid the world's worst darkness give
A little precious light!

CHOICE POEMS.

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LITTLE DEEDS.

LITTLE DEEDS.

NOT mighty deeds make up the sum
Of happiness below,

But little acts of kindliness,
Which any child may show.

An early flower, unasked bestowed,—
A light and cautious tread,-
A voice to gentlest whisper hushed,
To spare the aching head,—

O, deeds like these, though little things,
Yet purest love disclose,

As fragrant perfume on the air
Reveals the hidden rose.

Our Heavenly Father loves to see
These precious fruits of love;
And, if we only serve him here,
We'll dwell with him above.

THE MOUNTAIN TORRENT.

THE MOUNTAIN TORRENT.

FAIR streamlet running
Where violets grow
Under the elm-trees,
Murmuring low;

Rippling gently

Amid the grass;
I have a fancy,

As I pass;

I have a fancy as I see

The trailing willows kissing thee;
As I behold the daisies pied,
The harebells nodding at thy side;
The sheep that feed upon thy brink,
The birds that stoop thy wave to drink ;
Thy blooms that tempt the bees to stray,
And all the life that tracks thy way.

I deem thou flowest
Through grassy meads
To show the beauty

Of gentle deeds;
To show how happy
The world might be,
If man, observant,
Copied thee;

To show how small a stream may pour
Verdure and beauty on either shore;

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WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR?

To teach what humble men might do,

If their lives were pure, and their hearts were true;
And what a wealth they might dispense,

In modest, calm beneficence;

Marking their course, as thou dost thine,
By wayside flowers of love divine.

CHARLES MACKAY.

WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR?

THY neighbor? It is he whom thou
Hast power to aid and bless,
Whose aching heart or burning brow
Thy soothing hand may press.

Thy neighbor? "T is the fainting poor,
Whose eye with want is dim,
Whom hunger sends from door to door; -
Go thou, and succor him.

Thy neighbor? 'Tis that weary man,
Whose years are at their brim,

Bent low with sickness, cares, and pain; -
Go thou and comfort him.

Thy neighbor? 'Tis the heart bereft
Of every earthly gem;
Widow and orphan, helpless left; -
Go thou and shelter them.

THE LITTLE MATCH-SELLERS.

Thy neighbor? Yonder toiling slave,
Fettered in thought and limb,
Whose hopes are all beyond the grave;-
Go thou and ransom him.

Whene'er thou meet'st a human form
Less favored than thine own,
Remember 't is thy neighbor worm, —
Thy mother, or thy son.

O, pass not, pass not heedless by ;
Perhaps thou canst redeem
The breaking heart from misery ;-
Go, share thy lot with him.

ARE all your matches sold, Tom?
Is all your selling done?

Then let us to the flowery fields,
To warm us in the sun.

THE LITTLE MATCH-SELLERS.

To warm us in the sweet, sweet sun,
To feel his heavenly glow;

For his kind looks are the only looks
Of kindness that we know.

We'll call the sun our father, Tom!
We'll call the sun our mother!

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PEARODY.