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SCHOOL.

How pleasant it is, when I go to my school,
To see the dear children all seated around ;
Let idle boys race in the street if they will,
With good little scholars I choose to be found.

I'll work and I'll study to find out the way
To do all the good that I possibly can,
For if I learn nothing when I am a boy,
What good can I do when I grow to a man ?

LITTLE SUSAN.

What 's the matter with you, Susan?
What can thus have made you cry ?
Smooth your little forehead, sister,
Wipe the water from your eye.

You are neither sick nor hungry,
Wherefore then should you be sad?
Let your little heart be thankful,
And your little face be glad.

GOOD THOUGHTS.

I must not speak a naughty word,
I must not tell a lie,

I must not contradict and make
My little sister cry.

And if I have a piece of cake,
When I with children play,
I must not eat it all myself,
But give a part away.

PLAY.

How bright is the morning, how fair is the day,
Come on, little Charley, come with us to play,
And yonder is Henry, I'll give him a call,
Do you take the bat, and I'll carry the ball.

But we'll make it a rule to be friendly and clever,
Even if we are beat, we'll be pleasant as ever,
'Tis foolish and wicked to quarrel in play,
So if any one's angry, we'll send him away.

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Come, my children, come away,
For the sun shines bright to-day ;
Little children, come with me,
Birds and brooks and posies see ;
Get your hats, and come away,
For it is a pleasant day.

Every thing is laughing, singing,
All the pretty flowers are springing;
See the kitten full of fun,
Sporting in the pleasant sun ;
Children, too, may sport and play,
For it is a pleasant day.

LITTLE BROTHER AND SISTER.

What a pretty sight, to see
A little brother, every day,
As he travels on to school,
Lead his sister in the way.
Travel on, my little dears,
Cheerfully your hours employ,
And lead each other in that way,
That leads to everlasting joy.

AFFECTION.

Does your head ache, little brother?
Are you sick, and are you weak?
Are you sad, and tired of playing?
Does it hurt you when you speak?

I cannot cure you, darling brother,
Cannot ease a single pain,
I'll go ask our heavenly Father,
He can make you well again.

LITTLE JOHN.

Dear mother, John one evening said, Pray tell me where you get your thread? It is so very small a thing,

It can't be made like rope, or string.

My dear, thread 's made of flax that grows,
Of cotton, too, planted in rows,
Then it is pulled and carded fine,
Then spun with wheel and band or line.

The little threads, then, two or three
Are twisted, strong and smooth they'll be ;
Then it is wound in skein, or ball,
Ready for sale when ladies call.

Next day came John, with pleasant brow,
"Mamma, are you at leisure now ?
Tell me, for much I wish to know,
Tell me, do pins and needles grow?"

"No," said mamma, "sit down my dear,
And we will read about them here;

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