And from the gifts of God above,
She chose a goodly one.

She chose for her beloved boy,
The source of light, and life, and joy:

And bade him keep the gift, that when
The parting hour should come,
They might have hope to meet again
In an eternal home.

She said his faith in that would be
Sweet incense to her memory.

And should the scoffer, in his pride,
Laugh that fond faith to scorn,
And bid him cast the pledge aside,
That he from youth had borne,
She bade him pause, and ask his breast
If he or she had loved him best.

Coo! coo! pretty pigeon, all day

Coo! coo! to your children and mate ;
You seem in your soft note to say,
That you never knew anger or hate.

And thus little children should try

To be civil, and patient, and kind; And not to be pettish and cry, When they cannot have all to their mind.

BIRD'S NEST.

In yonder brake there is a nest,
But come not, George, too nigh,
Lest the poor mother, frightened thence,
Should leave her young and fly.

Think with what pain, through many a day,
Soft moss and straw she brought;

And let your own dear mother's care,
Be present to your thought.

And think how must her heart deplore,
And droop with grief and pain,
If those she reared, and nursed, and loved,
She ne'er should see again.

LITTLE STAR.

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are ;
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.

When the blazing sun is gone,
When he nothing shines upon,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle, twinkle all the night.

Then the traveler in the dark,
Thanks you for your tiny spark,

He could not see which way to go,
If you did not twinkle so.

In the dark blue sky you keep,
And often through my curtain peep,
For you never shut your eye

Till the sun is in the sky.

VIOLETS.

Violets, violets, beautiful blue violets,

Laden with perfume, and dripping with dew, From hill and from valley, by rills and by rivulets, Sister, at sunrise, I sought them for you.

Enclosed in a cluster of green leaves I found them, Hiding their heads from the gaze of the day, Betrayed by the sweets they themselves shed around

them,

I cull'd the wild blossoms and bore them away. Slight not, oh slight not the shy little flower, It seeks not to vie with the gay garden rose, Though humble the incense it brings to your bower, If its life be a short one, 'tis sweet to the close.

Behold a bird's nest !

Mark it well, within, without ;

No tool had he that wrought; no knife to cut,

No nail to fix, no bodkin to insert,

No glue to join: his little beak was all;

And yet how neatly finished! What nice hand,

With all the implements of art,

Could make me such another?