BABY, baby, ope your eye,
For the sun is in the sky,
And he's peeping once again
Through the frosty window-pane :
Little baby, do not keep

Any longer fast asleep.

There now, sit in mother's lap,
That she may untie your cap;
For the little strings have got
Twisted into such a knot:
Yes, I see, you've been at play,
With the bobbin, as you lay.

N

There it comes; now let us see
Where your petticoats can be:
Oh! they're in the window-seat,
Folded very smooth and neat:
When my baby older grows,
She shall double up her clothes.

Now one pretty little kiss,
For dressing you so nice as this;
And before we go downstairs,
Don't forget to say your prayers;
For 'tis God who loves to keep
Little babies while they sleep.

NURSERY RHYMES.

LITTLE CHILD'S PRAYER.

LORD, look upon a little child
By nature sinful, weak, and wild,
Oh, put Thy gracious hands on me,
And make me all I ought to be.

INFANT'S MAGAZINE.

I WALK'D in a field of fresh clover this morn,

Where lambs play'd so merrily under the trees, Or rubb'd their soft coats on a naked old thorn, Or nibbled the clover, or rested at ease.

And under the edge ran a clear water-brook,
To drink from when thirsty or weary with play;
So gay did the daisies and buttercups look,
That I thought little lambs must be happy all

day.

And when I remember the beautiful psalm,
That tells about Christ and His pastures so

green;

I know He is willing to make me His lamb,
And happier far than the lambs I have seen.

If I drink of the waters, so peaceful and still,
That flow in His field, I for ever shall live;
If I love Him, and seek His commands to fulfil,

A place in His sheepfold to me will He give.

The lambs are at peace in the fields when they play,

The long summer's day in contentment they spend ;

But happier I, if in God's holy way,

I try to walk always, with Christ for my friend.

MARY L. DUNCAN.

COME, supper is ready,

Come, boys and girls, now;

For here is fresh milk

From the good moolly cow.

Have done with your fife
And your row-de-dow-dow,

And take this good milk
From the good moolly cow.

Whoever is fretting

Must clear up his brow, Or he'll have no milk

From the good moolly cow.