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WHO MADE THEM?

MOTHER, who made the stars which light The beautiful blue sky?

Who made the moon, so clear and bright, That rises up so high ?"

""Twas God, my child, the glorious OneHe form'd them by His power;

He made alike the brilliant sun
And every leaf and flower.

THE USE OF FLOWERS.

"He made your little feet to walk,
Your sparkling eyes to see,

Your busy prattling tongue to talk,
Your limbs so light and free.

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"He paints each fragrant flower that glows
With loveliness and bloom;
He gives the violet and the rose
Their beauty and perfume.
"Our various wants His hands supply,
And guard us every hour;
We're kept beneath His watchful eye,
And guided by His power.

"Then let your little heart, my love,
Its grateful homage pay

To this kind Friend who, from above,
So gently guides your way."

THE USE OF FLOWERS.

GOD might have made the earth bring forth Enough for great and small;

The oak-tree and the cedar-tree,

Without a flower at all.

He might have made enough, enough
For every want of ours,

For medicine, luxury, and food,
And yet have made no flowers.

H

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THE USE OF FLOWERS.

The ore within the mountain-mine
Requireth none to grow,

Nor doth it need the lotus-flower

To make the river flow.

The clouds might give abundant rain,
The nightly dews might fall,
And the herb that keepeth life in man
Might yet have drunk them all.

Then wherefore, wherefore were they made
All dyed with rainbow light,
All fashion'd with supremest grace,
Upspringing day and night;

Springing in valleys green and low,
And in the mountains high,
And in the silent wilderness,
Where no man passeth by?

Our outward life requires them not;
Then wherefore had they birth?
To minister delight to man,

To beautify the earth,

To comfort man, to whisper hope,
Whene'er his faith is dim;

For He that careth for the flowers

Will care much more for him,

MARY HOWITT.

THE CHILD.

"OH, I am weary of earth," said the child, As it gazed with tearful eye

On the snow-white Dove that it held in its hand, "For whatever I love will die."

So the child came out of its little bower,
It came and looked abroad :

And it said, "I am going this very hour,
I am going to heaven and God."

There was golden light where the sun had set,
And red and purple too,

And it seemed as if earth and heaven met

All round in the distant blue.

The light streamed through from the cloud's dark face,

It seemed as if 'twere riven;

Said the child, "I will go to that very place,

For it must be the gate of heaven.”

So off it set to follow the sun,

But the heavens would not stay; And always the faster it tried to run,

They seemed to go faster away.

Then evening shades fell heavily,

And night dews cold and damp,

And each little star in the dark blue sky
Lit up its silvery lamp.

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THE CHILD.

A light wind wafted the fleecy clouds,
And it seemed to the child that they
Were hurrying on to the west, while the stars
Were going the other way.

So the child called out when it saw them stray,
By the evening breezes driven,

"Little stars, you are wandering out of the way, That is not the way to heaven."

Then on it went through the rough waste lands, Where the tangled branches meet,

And the prickles, they wounded its dimpled hands,

And tore its little feet.

It shuddered to think of the darkening gloom, As it hastened along on its way,

And it thought of the words it had heard of the tomb,

As it had not thought by day.

It could not see before it well,

For the sun had sunk too low;

And at last it cried, for it could not tell

The it wished to go.

way

So the child knelt down on the damp green sod

To say its evening prayer,

And it said to the good and holy God,