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God made the sky that looks so blue ;

He made the grass so green ; He made the flowers that smell so sweet,

In pretty colours seen.

God made the sun that shines so bright,

And gladdens all I see ;
It comes to give us heat and light:

How thankful should we be !

God made the pretty bird to fly ;

How sweetly has she sung !
And though she flies so very high,

She won't forget her young.

God made the cow to give nice milk,

The horse for me to use ;
I'll treat them kindly for His sake,

Nor dare His gifts abuse.
God made the water for my drink;

He made the fish to swim ;
IIe made the tree to bear nice fruit:
Oh, how I should love Him!

TAYLOR,

THE SQUIRREL.
On, there's the squirrel perch'd aloft,

That active little rover;
See how he whisks his bushy tail,

Which shadows him all over.
Now see him seated on the bough,

To crack his nuts at ease,
While blackbirds sing, and stock-doves coo,

Amid the neighbouring trees.
With cunning glance he casts around

His merry sparkling eye;
In yonder hazel by the brook,

Rich clusters he can spy.
And then he flies much more alert

Than butterfly or bee;
No lamb or kid is half so light,
So swift of foot as he.

SONGS FOR LITTLE ONES.

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COME, give him, child, a breadcrumb,

For all the hills are bareNo rustle in the cornfield,

No music in the air.

The flowers all are wither'd,

The leaves are lying dead, And now the thriftless sparrow

Comes begging for his bread.

The merry little squirrel
Hath hoarded up

his storeHe's nuts enough to last him

Till summer comes once more.

He knew the time was coming

When he must needs be fed ; But, idling through the summer,

The sparrow now wants bread.

Child, feed him, he is hungry,

But take for thee this truth The spring of life is childhood,

Its summer day is youth.

Lay up in spring and summer

A store from learning's page, For the autumn hour of manhood, The winter time of age.

Child's Own BOOK.

A SUNDAY HYMN.

This is God's most holy day,
We must neither work nor play ;
But we'll try to play and sing,
And to serve our heavenly King.

Oh, 'tis pleasant now to go
To our Saviour's house below;
And we hope to sing and love
In our Saviour's house above.

MRS. PARSON.

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My dearest baby, go to sleep,
For now the bright round moon doth peep
On thy little snow-white bed,
And upon thy pretty head.
The silver stars are shining bright,
And bid my baby dear “Good night!"
And every bird has gone to rest
Long since in its little nest.

The lambs no longer run and leap,
But by the daisies lie asleep;
The flowers have closed their pretty eyes
Until the sun again shall rise.

HYMNS AND RHYMES.

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