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THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.

Old Kaspar took it from the boy,

Who stood expectant by;

And then the old man shook his head, And heaved a natural sigh: "'Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, "Who fell in the great victory.

"I find them in the garden,
For there's many here about;
And often when I go to plough,

The ploughshare turns them out: For many thousand men," said he, "Were slain in that great victory."

"Now tell us what 'twas all about,"
Young Peterkin he cries;
And little Wilhelmine looks up,
With wonder-waiting eyes;

"Now tell us all about the war,
And what they kill'd each other for."

"It was the English," Kaspar cried, "Who put the French to rout; But what they kill'd each other for I could not well make out; But everybody said," quoth he, "That 'twas a famous victory.

THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.

"My father lived at Blenheim then,
Yon little stream hard by ;

They burn'd his cottage to the ground,
And he was forced to fly;

So with his wife and child he fled,

Nor had he where to rest his head.

"With fire and sword the country round

Was wasted far and wide, And many a tender mother then

And new-born baby died;

But things like that, you know, must be
At every famous victory.

"They say it was a shocking sight,

After the field was won,

For many a thousand bodies there

Lay rotting in the sun;

But things like that, you know, must be

After a famous victory.

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"Great praise the Duke of Marlborough won,

And our good Prince Eugene.""Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!"

Said little Wilhelmine.

"Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he, "It was a FAMOUS VICTORY.

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THE CHILD AND THE FLOWERS.

"And everybody praised the Duke,
Who this great fight did win."-
"But what good came of it at last ?"
Quoth little Peterkin.

Why that I cannot tell," said he: "But 'twas A FAMOUS VICTORY."

SOUTHEY.

THE CHILD AND THE FLOWERS.

PRETTY little flowers, that blow
Where the grass is soft and low-
Daisies, white and tipp'd with red;
Violets, on your leafy bed;
Cowslips, bending on your stalk;
Primroses, beside the walk-

Who has made you fair and sweet,
Growing thus beneath my feet?
Surely He must loving be

Who made such tender things as ye.
Little children, would you know
Who has made us live and grow,
Who has given our pleasant smell,
Who has kept us all so well,
Who has given us beauty thus,
Though no gardener cares for us?

SABBATH CHIMES.

Listen, while I simply tell

Of Him who "doeth all things well."
God created us at first,

Before the earth for sin was curst;
And every day our need supplies,
And guards us with His watchful eyes.
Oh, when your little hands ye spread
To pluck us from our lowly bed,
Well pleased our varied forms to spy,
Remember He is ever nigh;

And think, if thus His tender care
Has made the meanest flower so fair,
How surely He will keep and bless
The little children's helplessness.

SABBATH CHIMES.

THERE'S music in the morning air,
A holy voice and sweet,

Far calling to the House of Prayer

The humblest peasant's feet.
From hill, and vale, and distant moor,

Long as the chime is heard,

Each cottage sends its tenants poor
For God's enriching Word.

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SABBATH CHIMES.

Where'er the British power hath trod,
The cross of faith ascends,
And, like a radiant arch of God,
The light of Scripture bends!
Deep in the forest wilderness

The wood-built church is known ;:
A sheltering wing, in man's distress,
Spread like the Saviour's own!:

The warrior from his armed tent,
The seaman from the tide,
Far as the Sabbath chimes are sent
In Christian nations wide,—
Thousands and tens of thousands bring.
Their sorrows to His shrine,
And taste the never-failing spring.
Of Jesus' love divine !

If, at an earthly chime, the tread
Of million, million feet
Approach whene'er the Gospel's read

In God's own temple-seat,

How blest the sight, from death's dark sleep, To see God's saints arise;

And countless hosts of angels keep

The Sabbath of the skies!

C. SWAIN.