48

THE CHILD IN HEAVEN.

Summer flowers will soon be o'er;
Winter comes, they bloom no more.
Fairest days will soon be past;
Brightest suns will set at last.

Little child, now learn of me:
Let thy youth thy seed-time be;
Then, when wintry age has come,
Richly bear thy harvest home.

THE CHILD IN HEAVEN.

A LITTLE child who loves to pray,
And read his Bible too,

Shall rise above the sky one day,

And sing as angels do;

Shall live in heaven, that world above,

Where all is joy, and

peace, and love.

Look up, dear children, see that star,
Which shines so brightly there;
But you shall brighter shine by far,
When in that world so fair:

A harp of gold you each shall have,
And sing the power of Christ to save.

LOVE YOUR LITTLE BROTHER.

I HAD a little friend;

And every day he crept

In sadness to his brother's tomb,
And laid him down and wept.

And when I ask'd him why,

He mourn'd so long and sore,

He answer'd through his tears, "Because I did not love him more.

"Sometimes I was not kind,

Or cross, or coldly spake;"

And then he turn'd away, and sobb'd
As though his heart would break.

Brothers and sisters are a gift
Of mercy from the skies;
And may I always think of this
Whene'er they meet my eyes;

Be tender, good, and kind,

And love them in my heart,
Lest I should sigh with bitter grief,
When we are call'd to part.

MRS. SIGOURNEY.

TRUST AND TRY.

"CANNOT," Edward, did you say?
Chase the lazy thought away;
Never let that idle word

From your lips again be heard.
Take your book from off the shelf,
God helps him who helps himself;
O'er your lesson do not sigh:
Trust and try-trust and try.

"Cannot," Edward? Say not so.
All are weak, full well I know;
But if you will seek the Lord,
He will needful strength afford,
Teach you how to conquer sin,
Purify your heart within;
On your Father's help rely:

Trust and try-trust and try.

66 Cannot,"
"Edward? Scorn the thought;
You can do whate'er you ought:
Every duty's call obey,

Strive to walk in wisdom's way.
Let the sluggard, if he will,
Use the lazy "cannot" still;
On yourself and God rely:
Trust and try-trust and try.

PARTRIDGE.

THE PORRINGER.

YOUNG Lucy Payne lives on the Village Green, Mary, you know the cottage, I am sure, Under the hawthorn! 'Tis so neat and clean, Though Widow Payne, alas! is blind and poor. They do not want-yet poor as poor may be; God feeds the ravens and His children too: He is our Father, Mary, and will He

Not prove Himself a Father kind and true? Ask Widow Payne, and she will tell thee, love, How God, "our Father," always sends their bread;

That she and Lucy daily look above,

Nor doubt that, day by day, they shall be fed. She plies her needles, and she plies them well, And Lucy never spends an idle hour; On market days their mits and socks they sell, And thus their balls of worsted turn to flour. I pass'd one morning by their cottage door; Lucy was talking to a little child, A ragged thing that lives upon the moor; Its parents leave it to run rude and wild. Hunger had tamed the little wilding thing,

Its cheek was hollow, but its air was light; Young Lucy did not know I saw her bring That porringer she keeps so clean and bright.

It was her breakfast-all the darling had, Save joy of heart to feel her Saviour's smile; He saw dear Lucy feed that hungry lad,

And though the Master's gone, a little while,

When He returns, her ear shall hear His voice Repeat those thrilling words we read to-day. Dear Lucy! how her heart will then rejoice To hear her Lord, her gracious Jesus, say, "To ME thou didst it-dwell with me alway." 66 FROM COTTAGE BREAD."

FEAR NOT.

YEA, fear not, fear not, little ones;
There is in heaven an Eye

That looks with yearning fondness down
On all the paths ye try.

'Tis He who guides the sparrow's wing,
And guards her little brood;
Who hears the ravens when they cry,
And fills them all with food.

'Tis He who clothes the fields with flowers, And pours the light abroad;

"Tis He who numbers all your hours,

Your Father and your God.