LESSONS TO BE DERIVED FROM BIRDS. WHAT is that, mother? The lark, my child! The morn has but just looked out and smiled, When he starts from his humble grassy nest, And is up and away, with the dew on his breast, And a hymn in his heart, to yon pure bright sphere, To warble it out in his Maker's ear. Ever, my child, be thy morn's first lays Tuned, like the lark's, to thy Maker's praise. What is that, mother? What is that, mother? The eagle, boy! His wing on the wind, and his eye on the He swerves not a hair, but bears onward, right on. Boy, may the eagle's flight ever be thineOnward and upward, true to the line. What is that, mother? The swan, my love! The dove, my son! He is floating down from his native For the ring of his laugh is a mirth-moving To the rosy-cheeked urchin that hangs on strain, Which a choir of young creatures respond to again. The birds are all singing, each heart is elate With the rosy-cheeked urchin that hangs on the gate. The rosy-cheeked urchin that swings on the gate the gate? The rosy-cheeked urchin that swings on the gate Waves proudly on high his sachel and slate; The sky is all brightness-the fields are all gay; Green branches are waving-the lambs are at play: Hath Nature's own pages upon him to And where is the bosom that pines not to be THE CHILD AND THE STARS. is the light "THEY tell me, dear father, each gem in the | And the rays that they shed o'er the earth That sparkles at night is a star; [sky But why do they dwell in those regions so And shed their cold lustre so far? [high, I know that the sun makes the blossoms to spring, That it gives to the flow'rets their birth, But what are the stars? do they nothing but fling Their cold rays of light upon earth?" "My child, it is said that yon stars in the sky Are worlds that are fashioned like this, Of His glory whose throne is above, That tell us, who dwell in these regions of night, 66 How great is His goodness and love."-- 'Then, father, why still press your hand to your brow, Why still are your cheeks pale with care? If all that was gentle be dwelling there now, Dear mother, I know, must be there.""Thou chidest me well," said the father with "Thy wisdom is greater by far: [pain, We may mourn for the lost, but we should not complain, While we gaze on each beautiful star.” J. E. CARPENTER. THE PEBBLE AND THE ACORN. "I AM & Pebble, and yield to none!" Were the swelling words of a tiny stone; "Nor change nor season can alter me,I am abiding while ages flee. The pelting hail and drizzling rain Have tried to soften me long in vain; And the tender dew has sought to melt, Or to touch my heart,—but it was not felt. None can tell of the Pebble's birth; For I am as old as the solid earth! The Acorn was shocked at this rude salute, But to give reproof of a nobler sort Than the angry look or the keen retort, At length she said, in a gentle tone, Since it has happened that I am thrown From the lighter element, where I grew, Down to another so bard and new, And beside a personage so august, Abased I will cover my head with dust, And quickly retire from the sight of one Whom time nor season, nor storm nor sun, Nor the gentler dew nor the grinding wheel, Has ever subdued or made to feel." And soon in the earth she sunk away From the comfortless spot where the Pebble lay; But it was not long ere the soil was broke, Ah, modest Acorn! never to tell |