THE CORAL BRANCH.

I thought my branch of coral
A pretty shrub might be,
Until I learned a little worm
Had made it in the sea.

Down, down so deep,
Where dark waters sleep,
The coral insect lives;

But rests not there,
With toil and care

It upward, upward strives.

It builds its coral palaces

Than lofty hills more high, And when the structure to complete, The little worm must die;

Thus teaching me,

When coral I see,

That dying I should leave

Some good work here

My friends to cheer,

When o'er my tomb they grieve.

THE YOUNG BIRD.

Shall I let him go? shall I let him go?
This bird that I have found?
'Twould be a pity, I love him so,
To leave him on the ground.

I heard a little chirping song,
Not very far from me,
And soft and slow I crept along
To find what it could be.

And there he was that little bird,
Close down upon the ground,
I did not say a single word,
Nor make the slightest sound.

I held my breath, and stooping took
Him gently to my breast,
And then his little wings he shook,
As if within his nest.

I hope he will be happy here ;
I'll give him worms and bread,

He will not shed a single tear,
Nor droop his little head.

I think he has no pa' and ma',
For he was all alone,

And yet a bird not very near,
Was singing on a stone.

Perhaps that was his mother dear,
Perhaps she seeks him there,
I must not keep him now, I fear,
'Twould not be right or fair.

I'll take him back and let him fly,
And not be very sad,

For though the tear is in my eye, I think I'm very glad.

THE LITTLE GIRL BESIDE THE BROOK.

'Twas here my sister Ellen drowned
One long bright summer day;
Here was the little darling found
By good and faithful Tray.

'Tis many years since Ellen died,
But I have not forgot

The moment we her bonnet spied
Beside this very spot.

How very wet was her golden hair,
And how it made me weep
To see her lie so still and fair,
And know it was not sleep.

Poor Tray sits watching in my face
With such an earnest look,
He knows full well how sad a place
Is this sweet bubbling brook.

Had I a sister now to love,
How very kind I'd be ;

Ellen, the little gentle dove,
Was always kind to me.

Once, it was just before she died,
I struck her in a pet,
How bitterly I since have cried,
And wished I could forget.

I love to hear dear mother say,
Our Ellen lives in heav'n,
And every night I kneel and pray
To have my faults forgiven.

BIRD IN CAGE.

Oh! who would keep a little bird confined,
When cowslip bells are nodding in the wind,
When every hedge as with 'Good morrow' rings,
And heard from wood to wood the blackbird sings?
Oh! who would keep a little bird confined
In his cold wiry prison? Let him fly,

And hear him sing, 'How sweet is liberty!'