They patted it upon its head,

And stroked it with the hand,
And vowed it was the prettiest lamb
They'd seen in all the land.

PART II.

Now, this kind shepherd was as ill,
As ill as he could be,

And kept his bed for many a week,
And nothing earned he;

And when he had got well again,
He to his wife did say,

“The doctor wants his money, and
I haven't it to pay.

"What shall we do, what can we do?
The doctor's made me well,
There's only one thing can be done,
We must the pet lamb sell;
We've nearly eaten all the bread,
And how can we get more,
Unless you call the butcher in

When he rides by the door?"

"Oh, do not sell my white pet lamb," Then little Mary said,

"And every night I'll go up stairs
Without my tea to bed;

For if the butcher buys my lamb,
He'll take away its life,

And make its pretty white throat bleed
With his sharp, cruel knife;

"And never in the morning light

Again it will me meet,

Nor come again to lick my hand,
Look up to me and bleat.

Oh! do not sell my sweet, pet lamb; And, if you'll let it live,

The best half of my bread and milk I will unto it give."

The doctor at that very time

Entered the cottage door,

As, with her arms around her lamb, She sat upon the floor.

PART III.

"Why do you weep, my pretty girl?"
The doctor then did say.
"Because I love my little lamb,
Which must be sold to-day;
It lies beside my bed at night,
And, oh, it is so still,
It never made a bit of noise
When father was so ill.

Oh, do not let them sell my lamb,
And then I'll go to bed,
And never ask for aught to eat

But a small piece of bread." "I'll buy the lamb and give it you," The kind, good doctor said, “And with the money that I pay

Your father can buy bread.

"As for the bill, that can remain Until another year."

He paid the money down, and said, "The lamb is yours, my dear: You have a kind and gentle heart, And God, who made us all,

He loveth well those who are kind

To creatures, great and small;

"And while I live, my little girl,

Your lamb shall not be sold,
But play with you upon the mour,
And sleep within the fold."
And so the white pet lamb was saved,
And played upon the moor,
And after litle Mary ran
About the cottage-floor.

It fed upon the cowslips tall,
And ate the grass so sweet,
And on the little garden-walk
Pattered its pretty feet;
And with its head upon her lap

The little lamb would lay

Asleep beneath the elm-tree's shade,

Upon the summer's day,

While she twined flowers around its neck,

And called it her "sweet May."

Thomas Miller.

THE DAISY

WHAT hand but His who arched the skies,
And pours the day-spring's living flood,
Wondrous alike in all He tries,

Could raise the daisy's purple bud,
Mould its green cup, its wiry stem,
Its fringed border nicely spin,
And cut the gold-embossèd gem,
That, set in silver, gleams within,
And fling it, unrestrained and free,

O'er hill and dale, and desert sod;
That man, where'er he walks, may see

At every step the stamp of God?-Mason Good.

I'M NOT TOO YOUNG FOR GOD TO SEE.
I'm not too young for God to see;

He knows my name and nature too,

And all day long He looks at me,

And sees my actions through and through.

He listens to the words I say,

And knows the thoughts I have within;

And whether I'm at work or play,

He's sure to see me if I sin.

If some good minister is by,

It makes us careful what we do;

Then how much more ought we to fear
The Lord who sees us through and through.

Then, when I want to do amiss,
However pleasant it may be,

I'll always try to think of this

I'm not too young for God to see. Mrs. Gilbert.