THE ANTS.

A little black ant found a large grain of wheat, Too heavy to lift or to roll;

So he begged of a neighbor he happened to meet,

To help it down into his hole.

I've got my own work to look after, said he; You must shift for yourself, if you please; So he crawled off as selfish and cross as could be,

And lay down to sleep at his ease.

Just then a black brother was passing the road, And seeing his brother in want,

Came up and assisted him in with his load, For he was a good-natured ant.

Let all who this story may happen to hear,
Endeavor to profit by it;

For often it happens that children appear
As cross as the ant, every bit.

And the good-natured ant who assisted his brother

May teach those who choose to be taught, That if little insects are kind to each other, Then children most certainly ought.

Oh, Anna, this will never do,

This work is sadly done, my dear;

And then so little of it too

You have not taken pains, I fear.

Oh no, your work has been forgotten; Indeed you hardly thought of that: I saw you roll your spool of cotton About the floor, to please the cat.

See, here are stitches straggling wide, And others stretching down so far; have not tried

I'm very sure you

In this, at least, to please mamma. The little girl who will not sew,

Must neither be allowed to play; And now I hope, my love, that you Will take more pains another day.

MY FATHER BLESSED ME.

My father raised his trembling hand,
And laid it on my head;
"God bless thee, O my son, my son!"
Most tenderly he said.

He died, and left no gems of gold:
But still I was his heir;

For that rich blessing which he gave
Became a fortune rare.

Still, in my weary hours of toil
To earn my daily bread,
It gladdens me in thought to feel
His hand upon my head.

Though infant tongues to me have said,

"Dear father," oft since then,

Yet when I bring that scene to mind,
I'm but a child again.

THE ARK AND DOVE.
There was a noble ark,
Sailing o'er waters dark
And wide around;

Not one tall tree was seen,
Nor flower, nor leaf of green-
All, all was drowned.

Then a soft wing was spread,
And o'er the billows dread
A meek dove flew;

But on that shoreless tide,
No living thing she spied
To cheer her view.

So to the ark she fled,
With weary, drooping head,
To seek for rest:

Christ is thy ark, my love,
Thou art the tender dove;
Fly to his breast.

Mrs. Sigourney.

WHAT I HATE.

I hate to see a little girl

That does not love to rise,

And have the water, fresh and sweet,

Cover her face and eyes.

I hate to see her pretty dress
So careless look and tossed,
Her toys all scattered here and there,
Her thread and needle lost.

I hate to see her, at her play,
When little girls have met
To frolic, laugh, and run about,
Grow peevish, cry, and fret.

I hate to hear her tell a lie-
What's not her own to take;
Mamma's commands to disobey,
And father's rules to break.

And now I've told you what I hate,
I'll only stop to say,
Perhaps I'll tell you what I love
Upon some other day.

WHAT I LOVE.

I love to see a little girl

Rise with the lark so bright;

Bathe, comb, and dress with cheerful face, Then thank the God of light.

And when she comes to meet mamma,

So fresh and neat and clean,

And asks a kiss from dear papa

With such a modest mien.