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But man alone to bounteous Heaven,

Thanksgiving's conscious (3) strains (4) can raise;
To favoured man alone 'tis given,
To join the heavenly host in praise.

Mrs. OPIE. (3) Conscious—understood (4) Strains-prayers, hymns.

“O all ye Works of the Lord, bless ye the Lord: praise him and magnify him for ever.”

"Oye Children of Men, bless ye the Lord; praise him and magnify him for ever.”


A simple child, dear brother Jim,

That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,

What should it know of death ?

I met a little cottage girl,

She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl,

That clustered (1) round her head.

“Sisters and brothers, little maid,

How many may you be?'
How many ? seven in all,' she said,
And wondering looked at me.

• And where are they, I pray you tell?'

She answered, “ seven are we,
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.

(1) Clustered-hanging in clusters.

"Two of us in the church-yard lie,

My sister and my brother;
And in the church-yard 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 church-yard lie,

Beneath the church-yard tree.'

You run about, my little maid,

Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the church-yard laid,

Then ye are only five.'
“Their graves are green, they may be seen,'

The little maid replied, "Twelve steps or more from my mother's door,

And they are side by side.

"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 (2) And eat my supper there.

(2) Porringer--a small wooden bowl.

“The first that died was little Jane,

In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain,

And then she went away.
“So in the church-yard she was laid,

And all the summer dry,
Together round her grave we played,

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 they two are in heaven ?' The little maiden did reply,

O, master! we are seven.'
‘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
And say 'Nay, we are Seven.'



• Why should you fear the truth to tell?
Does falsehood ever do so well?
Can you be satisfied to know
There's something wrong to hide below ?
No; let your fault be what it may,
To own it is the happy way.

So long as you your crime conceal,
You cannot light and gladsome (1) feel ;
Your little heart will seem oppress’d, (2)
As if a weight were on your breast;
And e'en your mother's eye to meet,
Will tinge (3) your face with shame and heat.”'
(1) Gladsome-happy. (2) Oppress'd—burthened.

(3) Tinge-colour, mark. Endure anything rather than descend to utter an untruth or frame an equivocation. A just teacher, or a wise parent will readily forgive an offence, provided that it is confessed in an open and sincere manner. Remember as long as you live that a lie has never, or will ever, avail anything. It is sure to be discovered sooner or later, and the punishment will be severe but just.

Little boys and girls, recollect Ananias and Sapphira.


The Blind Boy's been at play, mother,

And merry games we had;
We led him on our way, mother,

And every step was glad.
But when we found a starry flower,

And praised its varied hue,
A tear came trembling down his cheek,

Just like a drop of dew.

We took him to the mill, mother,

Where falling waters made
A rainbow o'er the rill, mother,

As golden sun-rays played;
But when we shouted at the scene,

And hailed the clear blue sky,
He stood quite still upon the bank,

And breathed a long, long sigh.

We asked him why he wept, mother,

Whene’er we found the spots
Where periwinkle crept, mother,

O’er wild Forget-me-nots :
“Ah me!” he said, while tears ran down

As fast as summer showers,
“It is because I cannot see

The sunshine and the flowers."

Oh, that poor sightless boy, mother,

Has taught me I am blest,
For I can look with joy, mother,

On all I love the best,
And when I see the dancing stream,

And daisies red and white,
I'll kneel upon the meadow sod,

And thank my God for sight.

E. Cook.

A poor blind boy goes out to play with his companions, but he cannot see the beautiful blue sky, or the lovely flowers, or the green grass, and is sad poor boy when those with him shouted at the glorious scene; and hailed the clear blue sky! How thankful then should those little boys be that are not blind, and who can see the faces of those that love them, and every thing about them,-let them therefore remember the poor blind boy, and love the good God who gave them*sight.


Ere on my bed my limbs I lay,
God grant me grace my prayers to say ;-
O God! preserve my mother dear
In strength and health for many a year;

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