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Play on ! play on ! I am with you there,

In the midst of your merry ring,
I can feel the thrill of the daring jump,

And the rush of the breathless swing ;
I hide with you in the fragrant hay,

And I whoop the smother'd call,
And my feet slip up on the seedy floor,

And I care not for the fall.

I am willing to die when my time shall come,

And I shall be glad to go ;
For the world at best is a weary place,

And my pulse is beating slow;
But the grave is dark, and the heart will fail

In treading its gloomy way;
And it wiles my heart from its dreariness

To see the young so gay.—WILLIS.



Do you

ask what the birds say? The sparrow, the dove, The linnet, and thrush “ I love, and I love ;” In the winter they're silent—the wind is so strong, What it


I don't know, but it sings a loud song. But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm

weather, And singing, and loving, all come back together ;

But the lark is so brimful of gladness and love,

fields below him, the blue sky above, That he sings, and he sings ; and for ever sings he, “I love my love, and my love loves me.



The sunshine is a glorious thing

That comes alike to all,
Lighting the peasant's lowly cot,

The noble’s painted hall.

The moonlight is a gentle thing,

It through the window gleams
Upon the snowy pillow, where

The happy infant dreams.

It shines upon the fisher's boat

Out on the lovely sea ;
Or where the little lambkins lie,

Beneath the old oak tree.

The dewdrops on the summer morn

Sparkle upon the grass ;
The village children brush them off,

That through the meadows pass.

There are no gems in monarchs' crown

More beautiful than they,
And yet we scarcely notice them,

But tread them off in play.

Poor Robin on the pear-tree sings,

Beside the cottage door;
The heath-flower fills the air with sweets,

Upon the pathless moor.

There are as many lovely things,

As many pleasant tones,
For those who sit by cottage hearths,
As those who sit on thrones.



THERE was a poor widow, who lived in a cot,
She scarcely a blanket to warm her had got ;
Her windows were broken, her walls were all bare,
And the cold winter wind often whistled in there.

Poor Susan was old, and too feeble to spin,
Her forehead was wrinkled, her hands they were

thin ;

And bread she'd have wanted, as many have done, If she had not been blessed with a good little son.

But he lovëd her well, like a dutiful lad,
And thought her the very best friend that he had ;
And now to neglect or forsake her, he knew,
Was the most wicked thing he could possibly do.

For he was quite healthy, and active, and stout, While his poor mother hardly could hobble about ; And he thought it his duty and greatest delight, To work for her living from morning till night.

So he started each morning as gay as a lark,
And worked all day long in the fields till 'twas dark;
Then came home again to his dear mother's cot,
And cheerfully gave her the wages he got.

And, oh! how she loved him ! how great was her

joy! To think her dear Jem was a dutiful boy ; Her arm round his neck she would tenderly cast, And kiss his red cheek, while the tears trickled fast.

Oh, then, was not little Jem happier far
Than naughty, and idle, and wicked boys are ?
For as long as he lived 'twas his comfort and joy,
To think he'd not been an undutiful boy.

JANE Taylor.


I HAVE a little sister here—a very little

one, I nurse her every day, because she cannot go alone

; I think she has the sweetest voice that I have ever

heard, So I try to understand her, though she cannot speak

a word.

O, you should only look at her, my playthings when

I bring,
Her little eyes say

“Give them me,” as plain as anything; And when I call out, “Ellen, dear, I want a pretty

kiss," She smiles, and stretches out her arms, and so she

6 Yes.”


She cannot go alone just yet, but when she runs

about, It will be such a pleasant thing for me to take her out ; In the garden, or the orchard, we can pass the

summer hours, How soon she'll learn to know the names of all the

fruits and flowers !

We have a shady arbour, too; and there, in sunny

weather, On birthdays, and on holidays, we all take tea


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