Then pluck as many as you may,
And more will come another day.
Gather us all, and have no fear,
But more will come another year.
Then run and laugh, and shout our praises;
Your trampling feet can't hurt the daisies.
WE ALL MIGHT DO GOOD.
WE all might do good
Where we often do ill;
There is always the way
If there is but the will.
Though it be but a word
Kindly breathed or suppressed,
It may guard off some pain,
Or give peace to some breast.
We all might do good
In a thousand small ways-
In forbearing to flatter,
Yet yielding due praise;
In spurning ill rumour,
Reproving wrong done.
And treating but kindly
The heart we have won.
We all might do good,
Whether lowly or great,
For the deed is not gauged
By the purse or estate.
If it be but a cup
Of cold water that's given,
Like the widow's two mites,
It is something for Heaven.-A. H. P.
SATURDAY NIGHT.
THE week is passing fast away,
The hours are almost done;
Before I rise, the Sabbath day
Will surely be begun.
Through all this week what have I done?
Have I been kind to all?
Have I sought any thing but fun,
And run at every call?
Have I been still when I was bid,
And ceased to make a noise?
Have I been good in all I did,
At lessons or at toys?
I'm naughty every day I live,
Say many a foolish word;
But God can pardon all my sins,
Through JESUS CHRIST, my LORD.
An infant's prayer He will not scorn;
I'll pray before I sleep,
And ask His love, then rest till morn,
For He my soul will keep. M. L. Duncan.
GRATITUDE TO GOD.
WHEN all Thy mercies, O my God,
My rising soul surveys,
Transported with the view, I'm lost
In wonder, love, and praise.
Oh, how shall words, with equal warmth,
The gratitude declare
That glows within my raptur'd heart?
But Thou canst read it there.
Unnumbered comforts to my soul
Thy tender care bestowed,
Before my infant heart conceived
From whom those comforts flow'd.
When in the slippery paths of youth
With heedless steps I ran,
Thine arm, unseen, conveyed me safe,
And led me up to man.
When worn by sickness, oft hast Thou
With health renew'd my face;
And when in sins and sorrows sunk,
Reviv'd my soul with grace.
Ten thousand thousand precious gifts
My daily thanks employ ;
Nor is the least a cheerful heart,
That tastes those gifts with joy.
Through every period of my
Thy goodness I'll pursue;
And after death, in distant worlds,
The glorious theme renew.
Through all eternity, to Thee
A joyful song I'll raise;
But oh, eternity's too short
To utter all Thy praise!
TABLE RULES FOR LITTLE FOLK.
IN silence I must take my seat,
And give God thanks before I eat;
Must for my food in patience wait,
Till I am asked to hand my plate;
I must not scold, nor whine, nor pout,
Nor move my chair or plate about;
With knife, or fork, or any thing,
I must not play; nor must I sing;
I must not speak a useless word,
For children must be seen-not heard;
I must not talk about my food,
Nor fret if I don't think it good;
I must not say, "The bread is old;"
"The tea is hot;"" the coffee's cold;"
I must not cry for this or that,
Nor murmur if my meat is fat;
My mouth with food I must not crowd,
Nor, while I'm eating, speak aloud;
Must turn my head to cough or sneeze,
And, when I ask, say "If you please;"
The table-cloth I must not spoil,
Nor with my food my fingers soil;
Must keep my seat when I have done,
Nor round the table sport or run;
When told to rise, then I must put
My chair away with noiseless foot;
And lift my heart to God above,
In praise for all His wondrous love.
THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM.
A NIGHTINGALE, that all day long
Had cheered the village with his
Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
Nor yet when eventide was ended,
Began to feel-as well he might—
The keen demands of appetite;
When, looking eagerly around,
He spied, far off, upon the ground,
A something shining in the dark,
And knew the glow-worm by his spark
So, stooping down from hawthorn top,
He thought to put him in his crop.
The worm, aware of his intent,
Harangued him thus, quite eloquent-
"Did you admire my lamp," quoth he,
"As much as I your minstrelsy,
You would abhor to do me wrong,
As much as I to spoil your song ;
For 'twas the self-same Power divine
Taught you to sing, and me to shine,
That you with music, I with light,
Might beautify and cheer the night."
The songster heard his short oration,
And, warbling out his approbation,
Released him, as my story tells,
And found a supper somewhere else.
From this short fable, youth may learn
Their real interest to discern;
The moral here given is by an unknown hand
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