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KNOWEST thou how many stars
There are shining in the sky ? Knowest thou how
clouds Every day go floating by ? God, the Lord, has counted all ; He would miss one, should it fall.
Knowest thou how many
flies Play about in the warm sun ? Or of fishes in the water ?
God has counted every one. Every one He call’d by name, When into the world it came.
Knowest thou how many children
Go to little beds at night? That without a care or trouble,
Wake up with the morning light? God in Heaven each name can tell ; Knows thee, too, and loves thee well!
THE God of Heaven is pleased to see
angry word That child is pleasing to the Lord.
Great God! forgive, whenever we
find The sweet delight of being kind.
“ No one will see me,” said little John Day. For his father and mother were out of the way,
And he was at home all alone; “No one will see;" so he climb'd on a chair, And peep'd in a cupboard to spy what was there,
Which, of course, he ought not to have done.
There stood in the cupboard, so sweet and so nice, A plate of plum-cake in full many a slice,
And apples so ripe and so fine. “Now no one will see me,"said John to himself, As he stretch'd out his arm to reach up to the
shelf, « This apple, at least, shall be mine."
John paused, and put back the nice apple so red, For he thought of the words his kind mother
had said, When she left all these things in his care ; “ And no one will see me," thought he, “is not
For I've read that God sees us in all that we do,
And is with us everywhere."
Well done, John; your father and mother obey, Try ever to please them, and mind what they say
Even when they are absent from you ; And never forget, that, though no one be nigh, You cannot be hid from the glance of God's eye, Who notices all that
do. HYMNS AND RHYMES.
The sun is shining bright,
The bud is on the tree,
Are blooming on the lea-
Dear child, come out and see."
How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour! And gather honey all the day
From every opening flower.
How skilfully she builds her cell !
How neat sbe spreads the wax ! And labours hard to store it well
With the sweet food she makes.
In works of labour or of skill
I would be busy too ; For Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do.