SUNDAY IN THE COUNTRY.

THE spotted horse is put away,

The hoop, and kite, and top, and ball; For 'tis the holy Sabbath day, When Christians go to church and pray To God, who loveth all.

To-day the doll is put aside,

The story-books placed out of sight; For we must seek a holier guide, And read how Christ the Saviour died For us on Calvary's height.

The creaking waggon's in the shed,
The busy flail is heard no more;
The horse is littered down and fed,
The harness hangs above his head,
The whip behind the door.

His leathern gloves and hooked bill
To-day the woodman throws aside;
The blacksmith's fiery forge is still;
The wooden wheel of the old mill
Sleeps in the mill-dam wide.

The miller's boat is anchored where,
Far out, the water-lilies sleep;
You see their shadows mirrored there,
The broad white flowers reflected clear
Within the mill-pool deep.

The barrow's in the garden shed,

Hoe, rake, and spade are put away; Unweeded stands the onion-bed, The gardener from his work hath fled, This holy Sabbath-day.

Upon the wall the white cat sleeps,

By which the churns and milk-pans lie;
A drowsy watch the house-dog keeps,
And scarcely from his dull eye peeps
Upon the passer-by.

And sweetly over hill and dale

The silvery-sounding church-bells ring;
Across the moor, and down the dale,
They come and go, and on the gale
Their Sabbath tidings fling.

From where the white-washed Sunday-school
Peeps out between the poplars dim,
Which ever throw their shadows cool
Far out upon the rushy pool,

You hear the Sabbath hymn.

From farm, and field, and grange grown grey,
From woodland walks and winding ways,

The old and young, the grave and gay,
Unto the old church come to pray,
And sing God's holy praise.

For the great God Himself did say,
Thou shalt rest one day out of seven,

And set apart that holy day

To worship Me, and sing and pray,
If thou wouldst enter heaven.

SUMMER WOODS.

COME ye into the summer woods;
There entereth no annoy;

All greenly wave the chestnut leaves,
And the earth is full of joy.

I cannot tell you half the sights
Of beauty you may see,
The bursts of golden sunshine,
And many a shady tree.

There, lightly swung, in bowery glades
The honeysuckles twine;
There blooms the rose-red campion,

And the dark-blue columbine.

There grows the four-leaved plant, “true-love,”

In some dusk woodland spot;
There grows the enchanter's night-shade,

And the wood forget-me-not.

And many a merry bird is there,
Unscared by lawless man;

The blue-winged jay, the woodpecker,
And the golden-crested wren.

Come down, and ye shall see them all,
The timid and the bold;

For this sweet life of pleasantness
It is not to be told.

And far within that summer wood,
Among the leaves so green,
There flows a little gurgling brook,
The brightest e'er was seen.

There come the little gentle birds,
Without a fear of ill,

Down to the murmuring water's edge,

And freely drink their fill!

And dash about and splash about,

The merry little things;

And look askance with bright black eyes,
And flirt their dripping wings.