How long, sometimes, a day appears,

And weeks, how long are they? Months move along as if the years Would never pass away.

But months and years are passing by,

And soon must all be gone;

For day by day, as minutes fly,

Eternity comes on.

Days, months, and years must have an end;

Eternity has none;

'Twill always have as long to spend

As when it first begun.

Great God! thy creatures cannot tell
How such a thing can be;

But we would pray that we may dwell
That long, long time with Thee.

THE PAPER KITE.

My waking dreams are best conceal'd:
Much folly, little good, they yield;

But now and then I gain, when sleeping,
A friendly hint that's worth the keeping;
Lately I dream'd of one who cried,
"Beware of self, beware of pride!
When you are prone to build a Babel,
Recall to mind this little fable:
Once on a time, a paper kite
Was mounted to a wondrous height,
Where, giddy with its elevation,
It thus express'd self-admiration:
'See, how yon crowds of gazing people
Admire my flight above the steeple:
How would they wonder if they knew
All that a kite like me can do!
Were I but free, I'd take a flight,

And pierce the clouds beyond their sight:
But ah! like a poor prisoner bound,
My string confines me near the ground;
I'd brave the eagle's towering wing,
Might I but fly without my string.'
It tugg'd and pull'd, while thus it spoke,
To break the string. At last it broke.
Deprived at once of all its stay,

In vain it tried to soar away;
Unable its own weight to bear,
It flutter'd downward through the air;
Unable its own course to guide,
The winds soon plunged it in the tide.
Ah, foolish kite, thou hadst no wing;
How couldst thou fly without a string?"

Newton.

EARLY PIETY.

GOD loves the child that humbly prays,

And truly seeks His face; That walks in all His holy ways, Depending on His grace.

God loves the child whose earliest youth

Is given to the Lord;

Who fears His name and speaks the truth, And trembles at His word.

God loves all those who prize His love;
And, till this life be past,

Will shine upon them from above,
And save them till the last.

O heavenly father! shine on me,
And all my heart unite

To love, and serve, and honour Thee,
And make Thee my delight.

CHARLEY AND HIS FATHER.

THE birds have flown away,

The flowers are dead and gone,

The clouds look cold and grey
Around the setting sun.

The trees with solemn sighs

Their naked branches swing;

The winter winds arise,

And mournfully they sing.

Upon his father's knee

Was Charley's happy place,

And very thoughtfully

He looked up in his face;

And these his simple words:— "Father, how cold it blows! What 'comes of all the birds,

Amidst the storms and snows?"

"They fly far, far away

From storms, and snows, and rain ;
But Charley, dear, next May
They'll all come back again."

"And will my flowers come, too?"
The little fellow said,

"And all be bright and new,

That now looks cold and dead?"

yes, dear;

in the Spring

Ob,
The flowers will all revive,
The birds return and sing,

And all be made alive."

"Who shows the birds the way,
Father, that they must go? ·
And brings them back in May,
When there is no more snow?

"And when no flower is seen
Upon the hill and plain,
Who'll make it all so green,

And bring the flowers again?”

"My son, there is a power

That none of us can see,
Takes care of every flower,
Gives life to every tree.

"He through the pathless air
Shows little birds their way;
And we, too, are His care,—
He guards us day by day."