She shall sit by my side,

And I'll give her some food,
And pussy will love me,
Because I am good.

THE FLY.

'Twas God who made that little fly,
And if you pinch it, it will die ;
My teacher kind has often said,
We must not hurt what God has made.

For God is very kind and good,

And gives even little flies their food,
And loves each gentle little child,

Who is kind-hearted, good and mild.

THE DAISY.

I'm a pretty little thing,

Always coming with the spring,
In the meadows green I'm found,
Peeping just above the ground,

And my stalk is covered flat
With a white and yellow hat.

Little lady, when you pass
Lightly o'er the tender grass,
Skip about, but do not tread
On my meek but healthful head;
For I always seem to say,
Chilly winter's gone away.

THE COW.

Thank you, pretty cow, that made

Pleasant milk to soak my bread,

Every morning, every night,

Fresh, and warm, and sweet, and white.

And oh, how thankful I should be To God, who all my wants doth see, Each day he gives me pleasant food, And watches over me for good.

Young birds in a pretty nest;

I must not, in my play,

Steal the birds away,

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To grieve their mother's breast.

My mother, I know,

Would sorrow so,

Should I be stolen away;

So I'll speak to the birds

In my softest words,

Nor hurt them in my play.

And when they can fly,

In the bright blue sky,

They will warble their songs to me; And then if I'm sad,

It will make me glad,

To think they are happy and free.

SUMMER SONG.

Come, come, come,

The summer now is here, Come out among the flowers, And make some pretty bowers;

Come, come, come,

The summer now is here.

Come cull the pretty posies,

The violets and roses;

Come, come, come,

The summer now is here.

Come ramble in the bushes,
And hear the pretty thrushes;
Come, come, come,

The summer now is here.

THE WALK.

I'll go to the fields for some flowers,
The fields are so lovely and gay,
How sweet are they after the showers,
I could play in them all the long day.

But who made these pretty green trees?
And who made these beautiful flowers?

Who sweetens with roses the breeze?

Who makes them all fresh with the showers?

'Twas my heavenly Father above,

Who made every thing that I see, And who with compassion and love, Regards a poor infant like me.