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And these three listened to the song,
Silver-toned, and sweet, and strong,
Which that child, the livelong day,
Chanted to itself in play :

"When the wind blows the blossoms fall, But a good God reigns over all."

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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,
And from out the tree

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

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"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,
Bow down at thy mother's knee
Now thy sunny face is fair,
Shining through thine auburn hair;
Thine eyes are passion-free;
And pleasant thoughts, like garlands, bind thee
Unto thy home, yet grief may find thee-
Then pray, child, pray!

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,
Not a soul would dare to sleep,—
It was midnight on the waters
And a storm was on the deep.

'Tis a fearful thing in Winter
To be shattered by the blast,
And to hear the rattling trumpet
Thunder, "Cut away the mast!"

So we shuddered there in silence,—
For the stoutest held his breath,
While the hungry sea was roaring,
And the breakers talked with Death.

As thus we sat in darkness,
Each one busy in his prayers,
"We are lost!" the captain shouted
As he staggered down the stairs.

But his little daughter whispered,
As she took his icy hand,
"Isn't God upon the ocean,
Just the same as on the land?”

Then we kissed the little maiden,
And we spoke in better cheer,
And we anchored safe in harbor
When the morn was shining clear.

JAMES T. FIELDS.

Warbles in its summer nest;

No evil thought, no unkind word,
No chilling autumn winds have stirred
The beauty of thy rest;
But winter hastens, and decay
Shall waste thy verdant home away-
Then pray, child, pray!

Thy bosom is a house of glee,

With gladness harping at the door:
While ever, with a joyous shout,
Hope, the May queen, dances out,

Her lips with music running o'er;
But Time those strings of joy will sever,
And Hope will not dance on for ever—
Then pray, child, pray!

Now, thy mother's arm is spread

Beneath thy pillow in the night;
And loving feet creep round thy bed,
And o'er thy quiet face is shed

The taper's darkened light ;
But that fond arm will pass away,
By thee no more those feet will stay-
Then pray, child, pray!

ROBERT ARIS WILLMOTT.

TO A CHILD.

THY memory, as a spell

Of love, comes o'er my mind-
As dew upon the purple bell-
As perfume on the wind;-
As music on the sea-

As sunshine on the river;-
So hath it always been to me,
So shall it be for ever.

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