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In the dark blue sky you keep,

And often through my curtains peep, For you never shut your eye,

Till the sun is in the sky.
As your bright and tiny spark

Lights the traveller in the dark,
Though I know not what you are,
Twinkle, twinkle, little star!


BREAD and milk are finish'd quite,
Kiss me now, my heart's delight!
Always first from bed to spring,
Blithe and gay you darling thing !
Pinafore and frock so white,
Golden hair so smooth and bright
Sunny smile and laugh so clear,
Sweetest music to my ear!
Bring your little book, and say
Hymn and lesson for to-day.
Quick and perfect! I declare
Every little word is there!
Teacher will be glad, I know,
When in school you say
Now run off to school with pleasure-
One more kiss, my little treasure !


it so.


THE ROSE. How fair is the rose! What a beautiful flower!

The glory of April and May;
But the leaves are beginning to fade in an hour,

And they wither and die in a day.
Yet the rose has one powerful virtue to boast,

Above all the flowers of the field;
When its leaves are all dead, and fine colours are

lost, Still how sweet a perfume it will yield !

So frail is the youth and beauty of men,
Though they bloom and look


like a rose; But all our fond care to preserve them is vain,

Time kills them as fast as he goes.

Then I'll not be proud of my youth or my beauty,

Since both of them wither and fade;
But gain a good name by well doing my duty :
This will scent like a rose when I'm dead.


I'm so glad to see you, my dear little Robin ;

You put me in mind of warm weather;
I'll open the window, in hopes you'll hop in,

And then we can both be together.
I love you, dear Robin, because you're so airy,

And because you live high on a tree;
Because you can ride on the breeze like a fairy,

And make as sweet music for me. But where did you bide through the winter so

dreary, When the clouds hid the face of the sun ? I thought, in the storm, of your bright eye so

cheery, And wonder'd where you could have flown. Was it God, little bird, that kept you securely,

While He pour'd out the storm all around ? Then in darkness and death He will keep my soul

surely, And raise me anew from the ground.




With the scarlet breast, In this winter weather

Cold must be your nest. Hopping o'er the carpet,

Picking up the crumbs, Robin knows the children,

Love him when he comes.

Is the story true, Robin,

You were once so good To the little orphans

Sleeping in the wood ?


you see them lying Pale, and cold, and still, And strew leaves above them

With your little bill?

Whether true or not, Robin,

We are glad to see
How you trust us children,

Walking in so free;
Hopping o'er the carpet,

Picking up the crumbs, Robin knows the children

Love him when he comes.

And though little Robin

Has no gift of speech, Yet he can a lesson

To the children teach ; Still to trust that blessings

Will be richly given, When they ask their Father

For their bread from Heaven.


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