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NAUGHTY BABY.

BABY, baby Charlie,
Naughty in his play,
Slapping little sister,
Pushing her away.

Patting with his soft hands,
Laughing in his fun;

Slapping with such good-will,
That the tear-drops run.

Do not cry, dear sister,
Wipe away the tear;
Keep away from Charlie,
Do not come so near.

Or his little hands will
Pull your curly hair;
Peep at baby, sister-
Peep behind the chair.

Kiss the baby, darling-
Kiss the little one;
He is only playing
In his baby fun.

SUMMER SONGS.

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I LOVE little Pussy, her coat is so warm,
And if I don't hurt her, she'll do me no harm;
So, I'll ne'er pull her tail, nor drive her away,
But Pussy and I together will play;

She shall sit by my side, and I'll give her some food,

And she'll love me because I am gentle and good.

ΑΝΟΝ.

LET ME RING THE BELL.

A MISSIONARY far away,
Beyond the Southern Sea,
Was sitting in his home one day,
His Bible on his knee,

When suddenly he heard a rap
Upon the chamber door,
And opening, there stood a boy
Of some ten years or more.

He was a bright and happy child,
With cheeks of ruddy hue,
And eyes that 'neath their lashes smiled,
And glitter'd like the dew.

"Dear sir," he said, in native tongue,
"I do so want to know,

If something for the House of God.
You'd kindly let me do."

"What can you do, my little boy?"

The missionary said;

And as he spoke he laid his hand
Upon the youthful head.

Then bashfully, as if afraid
His secret wish to tell,
The boy in eager accents said—

Oh! let me ring the bell!

ILLUSTRATED POETRY BOOK.

"Oh! please to let me ring the bell
For our dear house of prayer;
I'm sure I'll ring it loud and well,
And I'll be always there."

And gladly did he grant the boon-
The boy had pleaded well;
And to the eager child he said,
"Yes, you shall ring the bell."

He rang the bell: he went to school,
The Bible learn'd to read,
And in his youthful heart was sown
The Gospel's precious seed.

And now to other heathen lands
He's gone of Christ to tell;
And yet his first young mission was
To ring the Sabbath bell.

NEW YORK OBSERVER

69

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SONG FOR MAY MORNING.

WAKE, sister, wake, for the sun is up;
How can you thus be delaying?
The dew is still in the harebell's cup,
And 'tis time to go a-Maying.

I'll throw up the window, the air is sweet
As the breath of a rose just born;
And see how the hills and meadows greet
The smiles of the first May morn.

I'm dress'd and ready-come, sister dear,
For the birds are carolling loud;
And the sky is soft, and blue, and clear,
And there isn't a speck of a cloud.

And hark! I hear from their chamber door, Our brothers come slyly creeping;

But I'll tell them I was up before,

And you have just done sleeping.

Look! there they stand at the gate below, And only for us are staying.

Are you ready yet? Oh! now we'll go

In the pleasant fields a-Maying.

MERRY'S MUSEUM.

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