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Yet still that student of the skies

His first selection kept ; No, no, mamma, just this, just this,

I laid me down and slept.'

That night the fever smote him sore

With dire delirious pain,
And fiercely racked the springs of life,

Till every hope was vain.

Then all at once in slumber soft

The darling sufferer lay, And like a lamb of Jesus slept

His little life away.

He slept, but with what glorious joy!

What strains of seraph love !
The waking word he spake not here
Shall be pronounced above.

Anon.

THE TRUTHFUL BOY.

Once there was a little boy

With curly hair and pleasant eye ; A boy who always told the truth,

And never, never told a lie.

And when he trotted off to school,

The children all about would cry, There goes the curly-headed boy,

The boy who never tells a lie.

And every body loved him so,

Because he always told the truth, That every day, as he grew up,

'Twas said, There goes the honest youth.

And when the people that stood near

Would turn to ask the reason why, The answer would be always this

Because he never tells a lie.

MARY'S LAMB.

MARY had a little lamb,

Its fleece was white as snow, And every

where that Mary went,
The lamb was sure to go.
He followed her to school one day, —

That was against the rule ;
It made the children laugh and play,

To see a lamb at school.

So then the teacher turned him out,

But still he lingered near,
And waited patiently about,

Till Mary did appear.
And then he ran to her and laid
His head upon

her

arm, As if he said, “I'm not afraid

You'll keep me from all harm."

“What makes the lamb love Mary so ?” The eager children cry

D

“Oh, Mary loves the lamb you know,"

The teacher did reply ;-
And you, each gentle animal,

In confidence may bind,
And make them follow at your call,
If you are always kind.

INFANT SCHOOL MAGAZINE,

TO A ROBIN REDBREAST.

LITTLE bird, with bosom red,
Welcome to my humble shed !
Courtly domes of high degree,
Have no room for thee and me:
Pride and pleasure's fickle throng
Nothing mind an idle song.
Daily near my table steal,
While I pick my scanty meal ;
Doubt not, little though there be,
But I'll cast a crumb to thee;
Well rewarded if I spy
Pleasure in thy glancing eye-

See thee, when thou'st eat thy fill,
Plume thy breast and wipe thy bill.
Come, my feather'd friend, again,
Well thou know'st the broken pane ;
Ask of me thy daily store ;
Ever welcome to my door.

WORDSWORTH.

THE CHILD TO THE ROBIN.

Come here little robin, come here to me,
You cannot live in a leafless tree ;
You must not perch on the snowy stone,
And chirp so sadly all alone.

Come under my window and I will spread
For you every morning some crumbs of bread :
Till summer returns I will feed you still,
And keep you in safety, if you will.

And then when the fields are green

and

gay, Your merry song will my care repay ; I would not hurt you, my pretty thing, I love too well to hear you sing.

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