VIOLETS.

Ye are the chosen of His love,
His most peculiar care ;

And will He guide the fluttering dove,
And not regard your prayer?

Nay, fear not, fear not, little ones;
There is in heaven an Eye

That looks with yearning fondness down
On all the paths you try.

He'll keep you when the storm is wild,
And when the flood is near;

Oh, trust Him, trust Him as a child,
And you have nought to fear.

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VIOLETS.

UNDER the green hedges, after the snow,
There do the dear little violets grow;
Hiding their modest and beautiful heads
Under the hawthorn in soft mossy beds.

Sweet as the roses, and blue as the sky,
Down there do the dear little creatures lie;
Hiding their heads where they scarce may be

seen,

By the leaves you may know where the violet hath been.

WE ARE SEVEN.

I MET a little cottage girl,

She was eight years old, she said; Her hair was thick with many a curl That cluster'd round her head.

"Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be?"

"How many? seven in all," she said, And wondering look'd at me.

WE ARE SEVEN.

"And where are they, I pray you, tell ?"
She answer'd, "Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.

"Two of us in the churchyard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And in the churchyard cottage I
Dwell near them with my mother."

"You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,

Yet you are seven ; I pray you tell,
Sweet maid, how this may be."

Then did the little maid reply,
"Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the churchyard lie,
Beneath the churchyard tree."

"You run about, my little maid,
Your limbs they are alive;

If two are in the churchyard laid,

Then you are only five."

“Their graves are green, they may

be

seen,"

The little maid replied,

"Twelve steps or more from mother's door,

And they are side by side.

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WE ARE SEVEN.

"My stockings there I often knit;
My 'kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground I sit-
I sit and sing to them.

"And often after sunset, sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.

"The first that died was little Jane ;
In bed she moaning lay,

Till God released her from her pain,
And then she went away.

"So in the churchyard she was laid;
And when the grass was dry,
Together round her grave we play'd,
My brother John and I.

"And when the ground was white with snow,

And I could run and slide,

My brother John was forced to go
And he lies by her side."

"How many are you, then," said I,
"If those two are in heaven ?"

The little maiden did reply,

"Oh, master, we are seven."

EVENING PRAYER.

"But they are dead-those two are dead, Their spirits are in heaven."

'Twas throwing words away, for still

The little maid would have her will,

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And said, “ Nay, we are seven.”

WORDSWORTH.

EVENING PRAYER.

THE sun has gone to rest,

The bee forsakes the flower,

The young bird slumbers in its nest,
Within the leafy bower.

Where have I been this day?
Into what folly run?

Forgive me, Father, when I pray,
Through Jesus Christ thy Son.

When all my days are o'er,
And in the grave I lie,

Wilt Thou permit my soul to soar
To worlds beyond the sky ?

L. H. SIGOURNEY.

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