THE SCHOOL-GIRL'S GARLAND.

PART FIRST.

PART FIRST.

A

I.

THE BOOK.

BOOK for me! a book for me!

That is the present I love to see! For common things I do not careSomething to eat or something to wearThat is, I like them, but not for a present, But oh! a nice book is always pleasant!

In winter 'tis good, by the evening light,
When lessons are done and the fire burns bright,
And the stormy wind outside sounds drear-
To sit and read, with my pussy near;
Papa on one side and mamma on the other,
While close by the table sit sister and brother.

Or in summer, when leaves are whispering sweet,
And I carry my book to the shady seat

Where the hummingbird hides himself in the bell
Of the trumpet creeper we love so well-
Oh! then the stories of flowers and birds

Seem to speak my own thoughts as I read the words.

And oh! I do have such pleasant dreams,
And each story I read so real seems !

I can see the fairies and hear them talk,
And angels pacing the garden walk,
And beautiful creatures wherever I look-
O papa-papa-please give me the book!

II.

SPRING VOICES.

YAW, caw!" says the crow,

CAW

Spring has come again, I know;

For, as sure as I am born,

There's a farmer planting corn.
I shall breakfast there, I trow,
Ere his corn begins to grow."

"Quack, quack!" says the duck,
"Was there ever such good luck ?
Spring has cleared this pond of ice
By her magic, in a trice,

Just as Goodman Drake and I

Its smooth surface wished to try."

III.

H

CRADLE HYMN.

USH, my dear, lie still and slumber;
Holy angels guard thy bed;

Heavenly blessings without number
Gently falling on thy head.

Sleep, my babe, thy food and raiment,
House and home, thy friends provide;
And without thy care, or payment,
All thy wants are well supplied.

Soft and easy is thy cradle;

Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay,
When his birthplace was a stable,
And his softest bed was hay.

Blessed babe! what glorious features,
Spotless, fair, divinely bright!
Must he dwell with brutal creatures?
How could angels bear the sight?

Was there nothing but a manger,
Wicked sinners could afford
To receive the heavenly stranger?
Dared they thus affront the Lord?

Soft, my child, I did not chide thee,

Though my song might sound too hard;

'Tis thy mother sits beside thee,

And her arms shall be thy guard.