The tall trees in the greenwood,
The meadows where we play,
The rushes by the water
We gather every day;—

He gave us eyes to see them,
And lips that we might tell
How great is God Almighty,
Who has made all things well.

Uncle John.

THE VOICE OF SPRING.

I am coming, I am coming!-
Hark! the little bee is humming;
See, the lark is soaring high
In the blue and sunny sky,
And the gnats are on the wing,
Wheeling round in airy ring.

Look around thee-look around,
Flowers in all the fields abound;
Every running stream is bright,
All the orchard trees are white,
And each small and waving shoot
Promises sweet flowers and fruit.

Mary Howitt.

CHILD'S WELCOME TO SPRING.

I'm very glad the spring is come,

The sun shines out so bright;
The little birds upon the trees
Are singing for delight;

The young grass looks so fresh and green,
The lambkins sport and play,
And I can skip and run about
As merrily as they.

I like to see the daisy and

The buttercups once more,
The primrose and the cowslip too,
And every pretty flower;

I like to see the butterfly

Flutter her painted wing;

And all things seem, just like myself,
So pleased to see the spring.

The fishes in the little brook
Are jumping up on high;
The lark is singing sweetly

As she mounts into the sky;
The rooks are building up their nests
Upon the great tall tree,

And every thing's as busy and

As happy as can be.

There's not a cloud upon the sky,
There's nothing dark or sad;

I jump, and scarce know what to do,
I feel so very glad.

God must be very good indeed,

Who makes each pretty thing;

I'm sure we ought to love Him much
For bringing back the spring.

M. A. Stoddart.

THE PARROT AND THE CROWS.

A parrot, red and blue and green,
Was at a farm-house often seen;
She flew about from tree to tree,
As blithe and happy as could be.

One day the crows pulled up the wheat,
And Poll, too, helped to pull and eat;
She chattered to the farmer's foes,
And did more damage than the crows.

The farmer brought his gun and shot-
Alas for Poll's unhappy lot!

No more on high the parrot rose,
But wounded lay among the crows.

"Bad company," the farmer said, As Poll was carried off to bed;

"Had you not with the crows been found, You still had been all safe and sound."

The farmer's children went to see
How Poll had happened hurt to be;
"Bad company," the parrot said,
And sadly shook her wounded head.

Poll soon grew well and hopped about;
But often, when the children shout,
She'll perch upon the nearest tree,
And sadly say, "Bad company."

You're so very little,

And the tree's so tall-
Oh! I tremble, birdie,
Lest you get a fall.

Look! he's flying safely,

He thinks not of fear,

For the little birdie

Knows his mother's near.

J. O.

THE LITTLE BOY'S GOOD-NIGHT.

The sun is hidden from our sight,
The birds are sleeping sound;
'Tis time to say to all "Good-night!"
And give a kiss all round.

Good-night, my father, mother, dear,

Now kiss your little son;

Good-night, my friends, both far and near; Good-night to every one.

Good-night, ye merry, merry birds,

Sleep well till morning light; Perhaps if you could sing in words,

You would have sung "Good-night!"