They know where the apples hang ripest, And are sweeter than Italy's wines; They know where the fruit hangs the thickest On the long, thorny blackberry-vines. They gather the delicate sea-weeds, And build tiny castles of sand; By a song that a fond mother sings. The humble and poor become great, And so from these brown-handed children Shall grow mighty rulers of state. The pen of the author and statesmanThe noble and wise of the landThe sword, and the chisel, and palette, Shall be held in the little brown hand. M. H. KROUT. ROBERT BRUCE AND THE SPIDER. ING Bruce of Scotland flung himself down, In a lonely mood to think ; 'Tis true he was monarch, and wore a crown, But his heart was beginning to sink. For he had been trying to do a great deed, To make his people glad ; He had tried and tried, but could not succeed, He flung himself into a deep despair, And after a while, as he pondered there, "I'll give it up!" cried he. Now, just at that moment, a spider dropped With its silken cobweb clew, And the king, in the midst of his thinking stopped To see what the spider would do. 'Twas a long way up to the ceiling dome, And it hung by a rope so fine, That how it would get to its cobweb home It soon began to cling and crawl Straight up with strong endeavor; Up, up it ran, nor a second did stay, Till it fell still lower; and there it lay Its head grew steady - again it went, Again it fell, and swung below; But up it quickly mounted, But up the insect went once more; Ah me! 't is an anxious minute; Steadily, steadily, inch by inch, Higher and higher he got, And a bold little run, at the very last pinch, "Bravo, bravo!" the king cried out; He conquered, and why should not I?” Thus Bruce of Scotland braced his mind; And gossips tell the tale, That he tried once more, as he tried before, And that time did not fail. LOVE to see the little goldfinch pluck The groundsel's feathered seed, and twit and twit; And soon in bower of apple blossoms perched, Plume his gay suit, and pay us with a song I would not hold him prisoner for the world. The chimney-haunting swallow, too, my eye No glue to join; his little beak was all— Mark the bee; She, too, an artist is—a cunning artist, Who at the roof begins her golden work, And builds without foundation. How she toils, And still from bed to bed, from flower to flower, Travels the livelong day! Ye idle drones, Who rather pilfer than your bread obtain By honest means like these, behold and learn How grand, how fair, how honorable it is To live by industry! The busy tribes Of bees, so emulous, are daily fed, Because they daily toil. And bounteous Heaven, Still to the diligent and active good, Their very labor makes the cause of health. DARE AND DO. ARE to think, though others frown; Dare in words your thoughts express; Dare to rise, though oft cast down; Dare the wronged and scorned to bless. Dare from custom to depart; Dare the priceless pearl possess ; Dare to wear it next your heart; Dare, when others curse, to bless. Dare forsake what you deem wrong; Dare God's precepts to obey. Do what conscience says is right; ARY SCHEFFER. Ary Scheffer was an eminent French painter. He was born in 1795, and died in 1858. N the wall of brick and plaster, With a piece of pointed chalk. As he drew it, Cousin Gretchen, Truly spoke his Cousin Gretchen; Filled his mother's heart with joy. Grow to be a good, great man. "I have little money, Ary, But I'll spare whate'er I can. "I will pay the best of masters, Who shall teach you all they know. 'In all labor there is profit,' Honors, too, from labor flow. "Let not earthly fame or glory, Be your only end or aim, Let the glory of your Maker Have the first and highest claim. "Then I doubt not, darling Ary, If God spare you, you shall be First and foremost of the painters Which the present age shall see.” Truly spoke his loving mother; A great artist he became : All the world now loud in honor Speak of Ary Scheffer's name. BY-AND-BY. HERE'S a little mischief-maker You may know him by his wincing, That is straying everywhere; And the present seems to be "By-and-By" the heart replies; But the phantom, just before us, Ere we grasp it, ever flies. List not to the idle charmer, Scorn the very specious lie; Only in the fancy liveth This deceiver, "By-and-By." J. W. BARKER. 66 LEARN A LITTLE EVERY DAY. ITTLE rills make wider streamlets, Streamlets swell the rivers' flow; Rivers join the mountain billows, Onward, onward, as they go! Life is made of smallest fragments, Shade and sunshine, work and play; So may we, with greatest profit, Learn a little every day. Tiny seeds make plenteous harvests, And the minutes make the hours! Let us while we read or study, Cull a flower from every page; THE BEST THAT I CAN. CAN not do much," said a little star, What is the use," said a fleecy cloud, A child went merrily forth to play, But a thought, like a silver thread, Through the happy golden head; She knew no more than the glancing star, How, why, and for what all strange things are— But she thought, "It is a part of God's great plan When the road was rough to the feet; THE GOLDEN STAIR. UT away the little playthings Lay aside her little playthings Kiss the little curly tresses Cut from her bright, golden hair— W. D. SMITH. "I WOULD IF I COULD." WOULD if I could," though much it's in use, Is but a mistaken and sluggish excuse; And many a person who could if he would, Is often heard saying, “I would if I could." "Come, John," said a school-boy, "now do not refuse Come, solve me this problem; you can if you choose." But John at that moment was not in the mood, At the door of a mansion a child, thinly clad, A rich man passed by her as trembling she stood, The scholar receiving his teacher's advice, But if we may credit what good people say, PRINCIPLE PUT TO THE TEST. YOUNGSTER at school, more sedate than the rest, Had once his integrity put to the test; His comrades had plotted an orchard to rob, And asked him to go and assist in the job. He was very much shocked, and answered, “O no! "You speak very fine, and you look very grave— If you will go with us, we'll give you a share; If not, you shall have neither apple nor pear." He spoke, and James pondered—“I see they will go ; Poor man! I would save him his fruit if I could; "If this matter depended alone upon me, His apples might hang till they drop from the tree; His scruples thus silenced, James felt more at ease, And in language severe the delinquent addressed: By your actions you're judged, be your speech what it may.' WILLIAM Cowper. The little sunbeam darted through, A mother safe beneath a tree Had left her babe asleep; It woke and cried, but when it spied So slyly in, with glance so bright, The merry sunbeam went: From home and country sent; But sparkling in that joyous ray, The blue waves danced around her way. A voyager gazed with weary eye, And heart of bitter pain; With the bright sunbeam from the sky Lost hpe sprang up again. "The waves," he said, "are full of glee, Then yet there may be some for me." D The sunbeam next did not disdain It entered at the cottage pane, And danced upon the wall. A pale young face looked up to meet The radiance she had watched to greet. So up and down, and to and fro, The sunbeam glanced about; And never door was shut, I know, To keep the stranger out. But lo! where'er it touched the earth It seemed to wake up joy and mirth. I can not tell the history Of all that it could do; By little smiles and deeds of love, O forth to the battle of life, my boy, Go while it is called to-day; For the years go out, and the years come in, And the troops march steadily on, my boy, To the army gone before; You may hear the sound of their falling feet, Going down to the river where the two worlds meet: They go to return no more. There is room for you in the ranks, my boy, And duty, too, assigned. Step into the front with a cheerful grace— Be quick, or another may take your place, There is work to do by the way, my boy, Then go to the battle of life, my boy, In the beautiful days of youth; Put on the helmet, breastplate, and shield, 666 で WANTED, A BOY. ANTED, a boy!' Well, how glad I am You hurry away through quiet streets, It thronged and besieged by at least a score. Perhaps by long and devious ways, With perils to face, and battles to win, Obstacles great to be overcome, Before you reach it, and enter in. Philosophy surely wanted a boy, While Franklin worked at a printer's case; Mechanics, when, low in the darkened mine, By an engine, Stephenson found his place; Nature, while Linnæus, crushed and tried As a cobbler, toiled out his sunless youth; Freedom, ere Washington reached her arms From childhood, up by the way of truth. "Wanted, a boy!" 't is written above Coveted places of highest renown; But the ladder of labor must ever be trod By boyish feet, ere the sign comes down. There are humble names half hidden now On the school day roll, 'mong many a score, That yet will shine as the lights of fame, Till boys are wanted on earth no more. The forum is echoing burning words Of orators destined to pass away; You will be wanted instead of them soon, Men of the future are boys to day. The watchmen standing on Zion's walls, Faithfully doing the Master's will, Are falling asleep as the years go by ;— Wanted, a boy each place to fill. MARY B. REESE, THE PET LAMB. 'HE dew was falling fast; the stars began to blink; I heard a voice; it said, "Drink, pretty creature, drink :" And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied No other sheep were near; the lamb was all alone, 'Twas little Barbara Lethwaite, a child of beauty rare! "What ails thee, young one? what? Why pull so at thy cord? Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board? |