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There is a flower, a little flower,

With silver crest (1) and golden eye,
That welcomes every changing hour,

And weathers every sky.
The prouder beauties of the field,

In gay but quick succession shine,
Race after race their honours yield,

They flourish and decline.
But this small flower, to nature dear,

While moon and stars their courses run,
Wreathes (2) the whole circle of the year,

Companion of the sun.
It smiles upon the lap of May,

To sultry August spreads its charms;
Lights pale October on his way,

And twines December's arms. (1) Crest-plume, head, or top. I (2) Wreathes—adorns.

All poets have sung the praises of this small but beautiful flower. In the north it is called Bairnwort, because it is loved by children. The Daisy is not relished by cattle, and is disliked even by geese. Its leaves were in former times considered a valuable application to wounds. Its Latin name is Bellis perennis ;-the French term it La petite Marguerite.


Oh! call my brother back to me,

I cannot play alone:
The summer comes with flower and bee-

Where is my brother gone ?

The butterfly is glancing bright

Across the sunbeam's track;
I care not now to chase its flight,

Oh! call my brother back.
The flowers run wild-the flowers we sow'd

Around our garden tree;
Our vine is drooping with its load-

Oh! call him back to me.
“He would not hear my voice, fair child-

He may not come to thee;
The face that once like spring-time smiled,

On earth no more thou'lt see!
“A rose's brief bright life of joy,

Such unto him was given;
Go, thou must play alone, my boy-

Thy brother is in heaven!”
And has he left the birds and flowers,

And must I call in vain;
And through the long, long summer hours,

Will he not come again ?
And by the brook, and in the glade,

Are all our wand'rings o'er ?
Oh! while my brother with me play'd,
Would I had loved him more!


A little girl is supposed to have lost her brother, but she does not at first understand that he is dead that he will never come back to her again. The last verse is singularly beautiful. How often can we apply the last lines of the closing verse to many a dear relative and friend, now gone to their last home, who when with us we did not sufficiently love, and of whom we have afterwards bitterly said,

Oh! that we had loved them more. Let then these few verses teach you to love more devotedly your parents, relatives and friends, so that this bitter regret may not pain you when they are gone.


And now another day is gone,

I'll sing my Maker's praise ;
My comforts every hour make known

His providence and grace.
But how my childhood runs to waste,

My sins how great their sum!
Lord, give me pardon for the past,

And strength for days to come.
I lay my body down to sleep,

Let angels guard my head;
And thro' the hours of darkness keep

Their watch around my bed.
With cheerful heart I close my eyes,

Since thou wilt not remove;
And in the morning let me rise

Rejoicing in thy love. This Evening hymn might be learnt by every little boy, and girl, and repeated in the evening of each day. Let them not only remember it in their minds, and say it by their lips, but keep it in their hearts, and apply it to their lives. After praying to our Heavenly Father, our hearts will be lighter, and depend upon it our sleep will be more refreshing to the body.


Come, my children, come away,
For the sun shines bright to-day:
Little children, come with me,
Birds, and brooks, and posies (1) see;
Get your hats, and come away,
For it is a pleasant day.

(1) Posies-nosegays.

Everything is laughing, singing,
All the pretty flowers are springing;
See the kitten, full of fun,
Sporting in the brilliant sun;
Children, too, may sport and play,
For it is a pleasant day.

Bring the hoop, and bring the ball,
Come with happy faces all;
Let us make a merry ring,
Talk and laugh, and dance and sing;
Quickly, quickly, come away
For it is a pleasant day.


Who taught the bird to build her nest

Of wool, and hay, and moss ? Who taught her how to weave it best,

And lay the twigs across ?

Who taught the busy bee to fly

Among the sweetest flowers; And lay her store of honey by,

To eat in winter hours ?

Who taught the little ant the way

Her narrow hole to bore ;
And through the pleasant summer day,

To gather up her store ?

'Twas God, who taught them all the way,

And gave their little skill;
He teaches children how to pray,
And do his holy will.


God in his infinite wisdom gave the bird an instinct or inward faculty, by which at certain seasons it builds its beautiful nest, oftentimes of the commonest materials, which it endows with warmth suited to the "little nestlings" which are afterwards to make their appearance. The same Almighty Being likewise taught the busy bee to construct its wondrous cell, for receiving the honey which it culls from the flowers of the field, and thus through all His works, the simplest as well as the highest, the greatest perfection and beauty are to be seen.

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There's not a leaf within the bower;

There's not a bird upon the tree;
There's not a dew-drop on the flower,

But bears the impress, (1) Lord ! of thee.

Thy hand the varied leaf designed,

And gave the bird its thrilling (2) tone ;
Thy power the dew-drop's lints combined,

Till, like the diamond's blaze they shone.

Yes; dew-drops, leaves and birds, and all,

The smallest, like the greatest things,
The sea's vast space, the earth's wide ball,

Alike proclaim the King of Kings.

(1) Impress-mark, stamp.

(2) Thrilling-piercing.

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