Be tender, good, and kind,
And love them in my heart,

Lest I should sigh with bitter grief
When we are call'd to part.

MRS. SIGOURNEY.

EVENING HYMN.

Now the sun has pass'd away
With the golden light of day;
Now the shades of silent night
Hide the flowers from our sight;
Now the little stars on high
Twinkle in the mighty sky-
Father, merciful and mild,
Listen to Thy little child.

Loving Father, put away

All things wrong I've done to-day;
Make me gentle, true, and good,
Make me love Thee as I should;
Make me feel by day and night
I am ever in Thy sight;—
Jesus was a little child,

Make me like Him, meek and mild.

Heavenly Father, hear my prayer,
Take Thy child into Thy care;

Let Thy angels, good and bright,
Watch around me through the night,
Keep me now, and when I die,
Take me to the glorious sky-
Father merciful and mild,

Listen to Thy little child.

W. H. H. ("Little Poems for Little Readers").

THE LITTLE CHILD'S GOOD NIGHT.

THE sun is hidden from our sight,
The birds are sleeping sound;
'Tis time to say to all, "Good night,"
And give a kiss all round.

Good night, my father, mother, dear,

Away to bed I run;

Good night, my friends, both far and near,

Good night to every one.

Good night, ye merry, merry birds,
Sleep well till morning light;
Perhaps, if you could sing in words,

You would have said, "Good night."

To all my pretty flowers, good night,
You blossom while I sleep;

And all the stars, that shine so bright,
With you their watches keep.

The moon is lighting up the skies,
The stars are sparkling there;
'Tis time to shut our weary eyes,
And say our evening prayer.

MRS. E. FOLLEN.

THE ROBIN.

SEE, mamma, what a sweet little prize I have found!

A robin that lay half-benumb'd on the ground. I caught him, and fed him, and warm'd in my breast,

And now he's as nimble and blithe as the best. Look, look, how he flutters!-He'll slip from my hold:

Ah, rogue! you've forgotten both hunger and

cold!

But indeed 'tis in vain, for I shan't set you free, For all your whole life you're a prisoner with me. Well housed and well fed, in your cage you will sing,

And make our dull winter as gay as the spring. But stay,-sure 'tis cruel, with wings made to

soar,

To be shut up in prison, and never fly more!