THE CHILD'S QUESTIONS.

WHо made the pretty fields, mamma,
With flowers red and blue ?

Who made the pretty stars, mamma,
And who made me and you?

'Twas God, my child, who made the world, And all things bright and fair;

His goodness keeps us from all harm,

His hand is everywhere.

And did He make the trees, mamma,

The rivers and the sea,

And the bright sun that from the sky

Shines down so cheerfully?

And can God see us all, mamma,
And hear each word we say ?
And does He see me when I sleep,
And when I sing and play?

He sees us all, my little one,
From His bright throne above,
And stretches o'er us, day and night,
The shelter of His love.

High on His heavenly throne He hears
Each little prayer you say;

Then learn to love Him, little child,

And seek Him day by day.

CHILD'S OWN BOOK.

THE GOLDEN RULE.

To do to others as I would
That they should do to me,
Will make me honest, kind, and good,
As children ought to be.

Whether I am at home or school,

Or walking out abroad,

I never should forget this rule

Of Jesus Christ, our Lord.

SONGS FOR LITTLE ONES.

Good ships be on her waters,
Firm friends upon her shores,
Peace, peace within her borders,
And plenty in her stores.

Right joyously we're singing, We're glad to make it known, That we love the land we live in, And our Queen upon her throne.

Then hurrah for merry England!
And may we still be seen
True to our own dear country,
And loyal to our Queen!

HYMNS AND RHYMES.

LULLABY.

WHAT does little birdie say,
In her nest at peep of day?
Let me fly, says little birdie;
Mother, let me fly away.
Birdie, rest a little longer,
Till thy little wings are stronger,
So she rests a little longer,
Then she flies away.

What does little baby say,
In her bed at peep of day?
Baby says, like little birdie,
Let me rise and fly away.
Baby, sleep a little longer,
Till thy little limbs are stronger.
If she sleeps a little longer,
Baby, too, shall fly away.

A. TENNYSON.

I MAY, if I have but a mind

Do good in many ways;
Plenty to do the young may find,
In these our busy days.

Sad would it be, though young and small,
If I were of no use at all.

One gentle word that I may speak,

Or one kind, loving deed,

May, though a trifle poor and weak,

Prove like a tiny seed;

And who can tell what good may spring,

From such a very little thing.