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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 bums 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.

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Au, 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 epfold 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.

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ONCE there was a little boy,

With curly hair and pleasant eye; A boy who always spoke the truth,

And never, never told a lie.

And when he trotted off to school

The children all about would cry, "There goes the curly-headed boy,

The boy who never tells a lie.”

And everybody loved him so,

Because he always told the truth, That every day, as he grew up,

'Twas said, "There goes the honest youth !" And when the people that stood near

Would turn to ask the reason why, The answer would be always this:

" Because he never tells a lie.”

HYMNS AND RHYMES.

OLD PUSS.

old cat,

Don't hurt the

poor
There can be no fun in that;
And it would be cruel too-
She never tried to injure you.

She, for years, has kept the house
Free from thievish rat and mouse;
Puss has always faithful been,
And has kept herself so clean.

True, she now is getting old,
Though she once was strong and bold;
At her prey she cannot leap,
And, if caught, can scarcely keep.

Poor old puss ! 'Twould be a shame
Thee for uselessness to blame,
When thou canst not active be-
Useless through infirmity.

HYMNS AND RHYMES.

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