And these three listened to the song, "When the wind blows the blossoms fall, But a good God reigns over all." Then down a green plain, leaping, laughing, And the while the bonny bird did pour His full heart out freely o'er and o'er 'Neath the morning skies, they run, And wash in a river, and shine in the sun. In the little childish heart below Then naked and white, all their bags left All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow, behind, They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind; And the angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy, He'd have God for his Father, and never want joy. And so Tom awoke, and we rose in the dark, And got with our bags and our brushes to work; Tho' the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm, And shine forth in happy overflow From the blue, bright eyes. Down the dell she tripped and through the glade, Peeped the squirrel from the hazel shade, Swung, and leaped, and frolicked, void of fear While bold blackbird piped that all might hear "Little Bell!" piped he. So if all do their duty they need not fear Little Bell sat down amid the fern "What good child is this," the angel said, "That with happy heart, beside her bed Prays so lovingly?" Low and soft, oh! very low and soft, Crooned the blackbird in the orchard croft, "Bell, dear Bell!" crooned he. "Whom God's creatures love," the angel fair Murmured, "God doth bless with angels' care; Child, thy bed shall be A CHILD PRAYING. FOLD thy little hands in prayer, Folded safe from harm-Love deep and kind,Now, thy young heart, like a bird, Shall watch around and leave good gifts be hind, Little Bell, for thee." T. WESTWOOD. BALLAD OF THE TEMPEST. WE were crowded in the cabin, 'Tis a fearful thing in Winter So we shuddered there in silence,— As thus we sat in darkness, But his little daughter whispered, Then we kissed the little maiden, JAMES T. FIELDS. Warbles in its summer nest; No evil thought, no unkind word, Thy bosom is a house of glee, With gladness harping at the door: Her lips with music running o'er; Now, thy mother's arm is spread Beneath thy pillow in the night; The taper's darkened light ; ROBERT ARIS WILLMOTT. TO A CHILD. THY memory, as a spell Of love, comes o'er my mind- As sunshine on the river;- |