No, no, my child; in summer mild,
The bees laid up their store
Of honey-drops in little cups,

Till they would want no more.

In cups, you said-how are they made? Are they as large as ours?

O no; they're all made nice and small, Of wax found in the flowers.

Our summer's day, to work and play,
Is now in mercy given,

And we must strive, long as we live,
To lay up stores in heaven.

Hastings' "Nursery Songs."

THE WANDERINGS OF THE BIRDS.

Autumn has come, so bare and gray,
The woods are brown and red,
The flowers all have passed away,
The forest leaves are dead.

The little birds at morning dawn,
Clothed in warm coats of feather,
Conclude that they away will roam,
To seek for milder weather.

The robin gives his last sweet strain,
His mate responding, follows;
And then away they lead the train

Of blue-birds, wrens, and swallows.

The cuckoo, thrush, and yellow-bird,

The wild goose, teal, and sparrow,
Martin and chippee, all are heard
To sing their parting carol.

The oriole hastens in his flight,
The swallow skims the water;
The whip-poor-will and bobby white
Join in the blackbirds' chatter.

Tribe after tribe with leaders fair
All spread their wings for flight,
Away, away, high in the air,

Nor care for day nor night.

The fig-tree and the orange bowers
They soon will find so sweet;
The sunny clime cf fruits and flowers
They with warm hearts will greet.

But when the voice of spring they hear,
They 'll sing their "chick-a-dee,"

And back they'll come, our hearts to cheer, "Tu-whit, tu-whit, tu-whee."

DON'T KILL THE BIRDS.

Don't kill the birds, the little birds
That sing about your door,
Soon as the joyous spring has come,
And chilling storms are o'er.

The little birds, how sweet they sing;
Oh let them joyous live,

And do not seek to take their life,
Which you can never give.

Don't kill the birds, the pretty birds
That play among the trees;

T would make the earth a cheerless place
To see no more of these.

The little birds-how fond they play;
Do not disturb their sport;

But let them warble forth their songs,
Till winter cuts them short.

Don't kill the birds-the happy birds,
That cheer the field and grove;
Such harmless things to look upon,
They claim our warmest love.

WHEN FATHER COMES HOME.

When my father comes home in the evening from work,

Then I will get up on his knee,

And tell him how many nice lessons I learn, And show him how good I can be.

He shall hear what number I know how to count,

I'll tell him what words I can spell;

And if I can learn something new every day, I hope soon to read very well.

I'll repeat to him all the good verses I know, And tell him how kind we must be,

That we never must hurt little creatures at all; And he will be glad, and love me.

I'll tell him we always must try to please God,

And never be cruel nor rude,

For God is the Father of all living things, He cares for and blesses the good.

SAMUEL.
When little Samuel woke,

And heard his Maker's voice,
At every word He spoke,

How much did he rejoice.

O blessed, happy child, to find
The God of heaven so near and kind.