"Be modest and retired," the Violet says; "Seek not for every man's admiring gaze; Better with me in lowly sweetness hide, Than be a vain obtruding child of pride."

"Be thankful and content," the Stonecrop cries;
"See what a little can my wants suffice;

E'en on this barren roof I grow and thrive,-
Thus on a little learn like me to live."

"Boast not of beauty," says the blushing Rose;
"To-morrow's setting sun my life will close,
My leaves will scatter in the evening wind;
Like me, at least, some fragrance leave behind."

Judge not in haste," the Strawberry exclaims "Wisdom examines ere it harshly blames;

To careless eyes I seem a barren root,

But search beneath, and you shall find some fruit.”

"See," says the Sunflower, "how, from morn till night, I turn towards the sun of life and light;

So turn, from youth to age, with love and fear,
To Him who makes thy comfort still His care."

"See," says the clinging Ivy, "though but weak,
A stronger form to twine around I seek;
Seek thou the help of God, so freely given,

That thou, although so weak, mayst climb to heaven."

Thus, the fair flowers that in my garden grow
Not only please me, but instruct me too:
Thus, while with fresh delight their forms I see,
Each has some lesson, some advice for me.

GOD IS LOVE.

All I feel, and hear, and see,
God of love, is full of Thee.

EARTH, with her ten thousand flowers;
Air, with all its beams and showers;
Ocean's infinite expanse;

Heaven's resplendent countenance-
All around, and all above,

Hath this record: God is love.

Sounds among the vales and hills,
In the woods and by the rills,
Of the breeze, and of the bird,
By the gentle murmur stirred-
All these songs, beneath, above,
Have one burden: God is love.

All the hopes and fears that start
From the fountain of the heart;
All the quiet bliss that lies,
All our human sympathies—
These are voices from above,
Sweetly whispering: God is love.

THE VOICE OF THE GRASS.

HERE I come creeping, creeping everywhere;
By the dusty roadside,

On the sunny hill-side,
Close by the noisy brook,

In every shady nook,

I come creeping, creeping everywhere.

Here I come creeping, smiling everywhere;
All round the open door,
Where sit the aged poor;
Here where the children play,

In the bright and merry May,

I come creeping, creeping everywhere.

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;
In the noisy city street

My pleasant face you'll meet,
Cheering the sick at heart
Toiling his busy part-

Silently creeping, creeping everywhere.

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;
You cannot see me coming,
Nor hear my low sweet humming;
For in the starry night,

And the glad morning light,

I come quietly, creeping everywhere.

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere; More welcome than the flowers

In Summer's pleasant hours;

The gentle cow is glad,

And the merry bird not sad,

To see me creeping, creeping everywhere.

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;
When you're numbered with the dead

In your still and narrow bed,
In the happy Spring I'll come

And deck your silent home-
Creeping, silently creeping everywhere.

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;
My humble song of praise
Most joyfully I raise

To Him at whose command
I beautify the land,-

Creeping, silently creeping everywhere.

Sarah Roberts.

"MY FATHER'S AT THE HELM."

"TWAS when the sea, with awful roar,

A little bark assailed,

And pallid fear's distracted power
O'er each on board prevailed-

Save one the captain's darling child,
Who steadfast viewed the storm,
And cheerful with composure smiled
At danger's threatening form.

"Why sporting thus," a seaman cried,
"While terrors overwhelm ?"
"Why yield to fear?" the child replied,
"My Father's at the helm!"

Christian! from Him be daily taught
To check thy groundless fear;
Think on the wonders He has wrought:
Jehovah's ever near.

THE CRICKET.

LITTLE inmate, full of mirth,
Chirping on my kitchen hearth,
Wheresoe'er be thine abode,
Always harbinger of good;
Pay me for thy warm retreat
With a song more soft and sweet;
In return thou shalt receive
Such a strain as I can give.

Thus, thy praise shall be express'd,
Inoffensive, welcome guest!
While the rat is on the scout,
And the mouse with curious snout,
With what vermin else infest
Every dish, and spoil the best,
Frisking thus before the fire,
Thou hast all thine heart's desire.

Though in voice and shape they be
Formed as if akin to thee,
Thou surpassest, happier far,
Happiest grasshoppers that are.
Theirs is but a Summer's song,
Thine endures the Winter long,
Unimpaired, and shrill, and clear,
Melody throughout the year.

Neither light nor dawn of day
Puts a period to thy play;

Sing, then, and extend thy span

Far beyond the date of man;

Wretched man! whose years are spent

In repining discontent,

Lives not, aged though he be,

Half a span, compared with thee.-Cowper.