THE ROBINS.

Good-morning, bonnie Annie,
I'm very glad you've come,
Bringing smiles and kisses
From your pleasant home.
Come and sit beside me
In this little chair;
I'll tell you pretty stories,
My cousin, blithe and fair.
A very pretty sight

This morning I did see-
Four little robins

Sitting on a tree.

A bright red cherry
One of them did pull;
It was large and ripe,
And very beautiful.

So he gave it to his mate,
As if wishing her to see;
And then all along,

To each of the three.

And then they all began

To peck a little piece;
Stopping to whistle,
O, how very nice.

And when they had eaten it, All so lovingly,

They flew away again,

Singing right merrily.

These little robins,

That live so happily,

Teach many lessons

Sweet and dear to me.

How boys can harm them.

I do not know,

And be so cruel to them,

And make them fear us so.

I knew a robin once

Who was so very tame, That in at the window

Every day he came.

From out of our hands
His crumbs he would eat,

And sing us a song

On the window-seat.

When spring came again,
He flew to the tree,
And all the long summer
With the rest was free.

But he never forgot

His snug winter nest,

Nor to whistle a song

For those he loved best.

I will not fear,
For God is near,
Through the dark night,

As in the light;

And while I sleep,

Safe watch will keep.

Why should I fear,

When God is near?

MY LITTLE PONY.

Hop, hop, hop, nimble as a top,

Over hill and valley bounding,

With your clinking hoofs resounding: Hop, hop, hop, nimble as a top.

Whoa! whoa whoa! how like fun you go: Stop, you nag, I tell you, tell you;

If you don't, I'll surely sell you.

Whoa whoa whoa! how like fun you go. Spare, spare, spare; sure enough, we're there; Very well, my little pony;

Safe's our jaunt, though rough and stony: Spare, spare, spare; sure enough, we're there.

Songs

5

Here, here, here; yes, my pony dear: Now with hay and oats I'll treat you, And with smiles will ever greet you, Pony dear, yes, my pony dear.

WHAT I LIVE FOR.

I'm not made for idle play,
Like the butterfly, all day;
Shameful would it be to grow
Like a dunce, and nothing know:
I must learn to read, and look
Often in God's holy book.

Busy I must be, and do

What is right and useful too;

What my parents, fond and kind,
Bid me, I will gladly mind;
Never cause them grief and pain,
Nor will disobey again.

But to God I still will pray,
"Take my wicked heart away:"
He from sin can make me free,
For the Saviour died for me.
O how happy, life to spend
With the Saviour for my friend.