Come, children, like the squirrel try,
In life's bright sunny morn,
To seek a good, a wise supply

Before old age comes on.

WELL SPRING.

THE CHILD'S DESIRE.

I THINK, when I read that sweet story of old,
When Jesus was here among men,

How He call'd little children as lambs to His fold,
I should like to have been with them then.

I wish that His hand had been placed on my head, That His arms had been thrown around me, And that I might have seen His kind look when He said,

"Let the little ones come unto Me."

But still, to His footstool in prayer I may go,
And ask for a share in His love;
And if I thus earnestly seek Him below,

I shall see Him and hear Him above.

In that beautiful place He has gone to prepare
For all that were wash'd and forgiven;
And many dear children are gathering there,
"For of such is the kingdom of Heaven."

MRS. LUKE.

LITTLE Willie Winkie

Runs through the town, Up stairs and down stairs, In his nightgown. Knocking on the window,

Rattling at the lock, "Are the children all in bed? For it's now ten o'clock."

Hey! Willie Winkie,

Are you coming then?

The cat is curl'd upon the hearth,

Sleeping is the hen;

The dog is stretch'd upon the floor,
He does not give a peep;
But here's a wakeful laddie
Who will not go to sleep."

"Anything but sleep, you rogue!
Gazing at the moon!
Rattling in your porringer
With your silver spoon;
Pulling at the cat's ears
As she purring hums
Hey! Willie Winkie!
See, here he comes !

Weary is the mother

That has a wakeful wean;

A little noisy runabout,

Heard whene'er he's seen;
Who has a battle aye with sleep,

Before he'll close an e'e;
But a kiss from off his rosy lips

Gives strength anew to me.

SONGS FOR MY CHILDREN.

THE BIRD'S NEST.

Ан, rob not the birdie's nest
Nor its tender young molest,
Heedless of their chirping cries:
Naughty boy! restore the prize.

Thoughtless child, did you but know
All the love and all the woe

That the parent birds must feel,
You would ne'er such treasures steal.

Helpless things too young to fly, Captives in a cage they'll die; Where's their mother, food to bring, And enfold them in her wing?

Wailing in some lonely brake,
Broken-hearted for their sake,
Like a mourning mother left,
Of her children dear bereft.

God above who cares for all,
He who sees the sparrow fall,
Made them free, on joyful wing,
Through the air to soar and sing.

SONGS FOR MY CHILDREN.

ONE MORE.

ONE more little one entereth Heaven,

One more angel to Paradise given ;
Another soft starlight gleams out in the sky,
Another sweet carol is heard on high.

One more learner takes his seat,
In the school of angels, at Jesus' feet;
Another dear dweller, clad in white,
Rests in the mansion of God's delight.

Fold the hands, mother, over the breast;
Let the heart that is aching quietly rest.

Where the dear one has vanish'd, at Heaven's gate,
There, tearful yet hoping, watch and wait.

MRS. BURGE SMITH.