THE BLIND BOY AT PLAY.

THE blind boy's been at play, mother,
The merry games we had!

We led him on his way, mother,
And every step was glad:

But when we found a starry flower,
And praised its varied hue,

A tear came trembling down his cheek,
Just like a drop of dew.

We took him to the mill, mother,
Where falling waters made
A rainbow o'er the hills, mother,
As golden sunrays played:
But when we shouted at the scene,
And hailed the clear blue sky,
He stood quite still upon the bank,
And breathed a long, long sigh.

We asked him why he wept, mother,
Whene'er we found the spots
Where periwinkles crept, mother,
O'er wild forget-me-nots.
"Ah me!" he said, while tears ran down
As fast as summer showers,

"It is because I cannot see

The sunshine and the flowers."

Oh! that poor, sightless boy, mother,
He taught me that I'm blest;
For I can look with joy, mother,
On all I love the best.

And when I see the dancing stream,

And daisies red and white,

I kneel upon the meadow sod

And THANK MY GOD for sight.

Eliza Cook.

LITTLE WILLIE AND THE APPLE.

LITTLE Willie stood under an apple tree old;
The fruit was all shining with crimson and gold,
Hanging temptingly low; how he longed for a bite,
Though he knew if he took one it wouldn't be right.

Said he, "I don't see why my father should say,
'Don't touch the old apple tree, Willie, to-day;'
I shouldn't have thought, now they're hanging so low,
When I asked for just one, he should answer me, 'No.

"He would never find out, if I took but just one,
And they do look so good, shining out in the sun;
There are hundreds and hundreds, and he wouldn't miss
So paltry a little red apple as this."

He stretched forth his hand, but a low, mournful strain Came wandering dreamily over his brain;

In his bosom a beautiful harp had long laid,

That the angel of conscience quite frequently played.

And he sung,
"Little Willie, beware, O beware!
Your father has gone, but your Maker is there;
How sad you would feel if you heard the Lord say,
This dear little boy stole an apple to-day!""

Then Willie turned round, and still as a mouse,
Crept slowly and carefully into the house;

In his own little chamber he knelt down to pray
That the Lord would forgive him, and please not to say,
Little Willie almost stole an apple to-day."

THE SHEPHERD BOY.

COME, little flock, 'tis time to leave the mountain;
Shadows are long, and the sun is sinking fast;
Soon will the moon be sparkling in yon fountain:
Come, little flock, for the day is past."

Thus down the vale the shepherd boy is singing,
While to the fold he leads his snowy sheep;
Homeward the rooks their weary flight are winging-
All nature's children prepare to sleep.

Poor shepherd boy! the moss must be his pillow,
Verdure his couch, no bed of down has he;
Nightly he lies beneath the spreading willow,
Lull'd by the brook and the rustling trees.

Poor shepherd boy! the stars that shine above him
Speak to his soul of beauty and of power;
Glad he adores the Father that doth love him,
Sending His care through the midnight hour.

From the German.

THE HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN.

JOHN GILPIN was a citizen

Of credit and renown,

A train-band captain eke was he
Of famous London town.

John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear, Though wedded we have been

66

These twice ten tedious years, yet we
No holiday have seen.

"To-morrow is our wedding-day,
And we will then repair
Unto the Bell at Edmonton,
All in a chaise and pair.

"My sister and my sister's child,
Myself and children three,

Will fill the chaise; so you must ride On horseback after we."

He soon replied, "I do admire

Of womankind but one,

And you are she, my dearest dear,

Therefore it shall be done.

“I am a linendraper bold,

As all the world doth know, And my good friend the calendrer Will lend his horse to go."

Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, "That's well said, And, for that wine is dear,

We will be furnished with our own,

Which is both bright and clear."

John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife;
O'erjoyed was he to find

That though on pleasure she was bent,
She had a frugal mind.

The morning came, the chaise was brought,

But yet was not allowed

To drive up to the door, lest folk
Should say that she was proud.

So three doors off the chaise was stay'd,
Where they did all get in-

Six precious souls, and all agog

To dash through thick and thin.

Smack went the whip, round went the wheels, Were never folk so glad;

The stones did rattle underneath,

As if Cheapside were mad.

John Gilpin at his horse's side
Seized fast the flowing mane,
And up he got in haste to ride,
But soon came down again:

For saddle-tree scarce reach'd had he,
His journey to begin,

When turning round his head, he saw
Three customers come in.

So down he came; for loss of time,
Although it grieved him sore,
Yet loss of pence, full well he knew,
Would trouble him much more.

'Twas long before the customers
Were suited to their mind,

When Betty, screaming, came down stairs, "The wine is left behind!"