THE APPLE-TREE.

LET them sing of bright red gold;
Let them sing of silver fair;
Sing of all that's on the earth,
All that's in the air;

All that's in the sunny air,

All that's in the sea;
And I'll sing a song as rare
Of the apple-tree :

The gold-streaked apple-tree;
The red-cheeked apple-tree;
That's the tree for you and me,
The ripe, rosy apple-tree!

Learned men have learned books,
Which they ponder day and night;
Easier leaves than theirs I read-
Blossoms pink and white,

Blossom leaves all pink and white,
Wherein I can see
Charactered, as clear as light,
The old apple-tree:

The gold-cheeked apple-tree;
The red-streaked apple-tree;

All the fruit that groweth on
The ripe, rosy apple-tree!

Autumn comes, and our good man,
Soon as harvest-toil is o'er,

Speculates in apple-crops

Be they less or more :

I could tell him; less or more
Is well known to me;

I have eyes that see the core
Of the apple-tree;

The old, mossy apple-tree;

The young, glossy apple-tree;
Scathed or sound, the country round,
I know every apple-tree !

Winter comes, as winter will,

Bringing dark days, frost, and rime;
But the apple is in vogue

At the Christmas time;
At the merry Christmas time
Folks are full of glee;

Then they bring out apples prime,
Of the primest tree;
Then you the roast apple see,
While they toast the apple-tree,
Singing, with a jolly chime,
Of the brave old apple-tree!

TO A LITTLE SISTER.

SWEET sister, like an opening rose
Thy tender cheek I see;

And bright thy little eye-ball glows
Whene'er 'tis fixed on me ;

And, oh! I love that gentle glance,
That smile so full of glee,

And in thy happy countenance
Thy infant meanings see.

Mary Howitt.

For thou, as yet, no word canst speak
To make thy wishes known;
And thou art now too small or weak
To stand or walk alone:

But on the daisied bank with me
Come sit this sunny hour,
And I will go and cull for thee

Each sweetly-scented flower.

Soon shall thy soft lips breathe my name
To each delighted ear,

And all thy gentle thoughts proclaim,

My sister, ever dear!

And I will tell thee wondrous things

That I was taught before;

And that sweet joy which knowledge brings
Shall charm thee more and more.

Then shalt thou hear how grow the flowers
So lovely o'er the sod,

When Spring comes back, with beams and showers, To cheer the works of God:

Yes, and the stars that roll on high,

When they thy wonder call,

I'll tell thee how in yon blue sky
'Twas God who placed them all.

Then shalt thou clasp my hand and rove
Through garden and through field;
And where, amid the leafy grove,
The little song-birds build.

We'll watch the squirrel on the boughs
His merry gambols play;

Or from its place the swift hare rouse,
And see him bound away.

Or, if at home, some pleasant book
I'll read of Wisdom's ways;

And watch how thy sweet smile and look
May speak thy silent praise.

And we will pray to God above,
Who knows the secret breast,
That He will teach us how to love
And ever serve Him best.