If God would speak to me,
And say he was my friend,
How happy I should be,

Oh how should I attend.

The smallest sin I then should fear,
If God Almighty were so near.

And does he never speak?

O yes; for in his word
He bids me come and seek
The God that Samuel heard.
In almost every page I see,
The God of Samuel calls to me.

THE POOR FAMILY.

I saw an old cottage of clay,
And only of mud was the floor,
'T was all falling into decay,
And snow drifted in at the door.

Yet there a poor family dwelt,

In a cottage so dismal and rude; And though keenest hunger they felt, They'd scarcely a morsel of food. The children were crying for bread, And to their poor mother would run— "O give us some breakfast," they said; Alas, their poor mother had none.

O then let the wealthy and gay
But see such a hovel as this;
And in a poor cottage of clay,
Learn what real misery is.
The little that I have to spare,
I never will squander away,
While thousands of people there are
As poor and as wretched as they. Taylor.

MARY'S LITTLE LAMB.

Mary had a little lamb,

Its fleece was white as snow;
And everywhere that Mary went,
The lamb was sure to go.

He followed her to school one dayThat was against the rule;

It made the children laugh and play, To see a lamb at school.

So the teacher turned him out,
But still he lingered near,
And waited patiently about,
Till Mary did appear.

Then he ran to her, and laid
His head upon her arm,
As if he said, I'm not afraid,
You'll keep me from all harm.

"What makes the lamb love Mary so?" The eager children cry.

"Oh, Mary loves the lamb, you know," The teacher did reply.

And you each gentle animal

In confidence may bind,

And make them follow at your will,

If you are only kind.

Songs for Children,

THE LITTLE BEGGARS.

Two beggars are at the door, mamma,
Two beggars are at the door,

A beggar-boy and a beggar-girl,
And the wind is biting, at every whirl,
Their feet all naked and sore.

Oh hasten and bring them in, mamma,
Oh hasten and bring them in,

And let them sit by the fire so warm,

For they have been out in the cold, cold storm, And their clothes are tattered and thin.

And tell them this is their home, mamma,
Oh tell them this is their home;

And give them something to eat that's nice,
Of bread and butter a good large slice,

And bid them no more to roam.

For is n't it all too bad, mamma,

Oh, is n't it all too bad,

That they must starve, or beg in the street,
No cloak to their backs, or shoes to their feet,
While I am so finely clad?

It may be God sent them here, mamma,
It may be God sent them here,

And now looks down from his home in the sky,
To watch them and see whether you and I
Are kind to his children dear.

And will he not angry be, mamma,

And will he not angry be,

If we let them go on in the storm so rough, To perish with want, while more than enough For them and for us have we?

TRYING TO DO RIGHT.

O that it were my chief delight
To do the things I ought;
Then let me try with all my might,
To mind what I am taught.