THE HAPPY CHILD.

I THANK the goodness and the grace Which on my birth have smiled, And made me in these Christian days A happy English child.

I was not born, as thousands are,
Where God is never known;

And taught to pray a useless prayer
To blocks of wood and store.

I was not born a little slave,
To labour in the sun,

And wish I were but in the grave,
And all my labour done.

I was not born without a home,
Or in some broken shed,

Like some poor children, taught to roam
And beg their daily bread.

My God, I thank Thee, who hast plann'd
A better lot for me;

And placed me in this happy land,
Where I may hear of Thee.

TAYLOR.

OBEDIENCE.

LET children that would fear the Lord,
Hear what their teachers say;

With reverence meet their parents' word,
And with delight obey.

WATTS.

JESUS, tender Shepherd, hear me;
Bless Thy little lambs to-night:
Through the darkness be Thou near me,
Watch my sleep till morning light.

All this day Thy hand has led me,
And I thank Thee for Thy care;
Thou hast clothed me, warm'd and fed me,
Listen to my evening prayer.

Let my sins be all forgiven,

Bless the friends I love so well;

Take me when I die to heaven,
Happy there with Thee to dwell.

I

MARY L. DUNCAN.

THE SNOW-BIRD'S SONG.

THE ground was all cover'd with snow one day,
And two little sisters were busy at play,
When a snow-bird was sitting close by on a trec,
And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee,

Chick-a-de-dee, chick-a-de-dee,
And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee.

He had not been singing that tune very long, Ere Emily heard him, so loud was his song: "Oh, sister, look out of the window," said she, "Here's a dear little bird singing chick-a-de-dee." Chick-a-de-dee, &c.

"Oh, mother, do get him some stockings and shoes, And a nice little frock, and a hat if he chose ; I wish he'd come into the parlour and see How warm we would make him, poor chick-ade-dee."

Chick-a-de-dee, &c.

"There is One, my dear child, though I cannot tell who,

Has clothed me already, and warm enough too.
Good morning! Oh who are so happy as we?
And away he went singing his chick-a-de-dee.
Chick-a-de-dee, &c.

F. C. WOODWORTH.

TURN, turn thy hasty foot aside,
Nor crush that helpless worm:
The frame thy wayward looks deride
Required a God to form.

The common Lord of all that move,
From whom thy being flow'd,
A portion of His boundless love
On that poor worm bestow'd.

The sun, the moon, the stars He made,
To all His creatures free;

And spreads o'er earth the grassy blade For worms as well as thee.