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"Father, when people die,

Will they come back in May?" Tears were in Charley's eye,"Will they?-dear father, say."

"No! they will never come;
We go to them, my boy,
There, in our heavenly home,
To meet in endless joy."

Upon his father's knee

Still Charley kept his place,

And very thoughtfully

He looked up in his face.-Eliza Lee Follen.

THE RAINBOW.

COME, see how fast the weather clears,
The sun is shining now;

And on the last dark cloud appears
A beauteous-coloured bow.

'Tis God who makes the storm to cease,
And sun to shine again;
The rainbow is the sign of peace
Between Himself and men.

This lovely bow He stretches forth,

And bends from shore to shore,—

His own fair token to the earth,
He'll bring a flood no more.

Just such a bow shines brightly round
The throne of God in heaven,
Which shows His mercy has no bound,
And speaks of sins forgiven.

INFANTILE INQUIRIES.

"TELL me, oh mother! when I grow old,
Will my hair, which my sisters say is like gold,
Grow grey, as the old man's, weak and poor,
Who ask'd for alms at our pillar'd door?
Shall I look as sad, shall I speak as slow

As he, when he told us his tale of woe?

Will my hands then shake, and my eyes be dim?
Tell me, oh mother! shall I grow like him?

“He said—but I knew not what he meant—
That his aged heart with sorrow was rent.
He spoke of the grave as a place of rest,
Where the weary sleep in peace, and are blest ;
And he told how his kindred there were laid,

And the friends with whom, in his youth, he play'd;
And tears from the eyes of the old man fell,
And my sisters wept as they heard his tale!

"He spoke of a home, where, in childhood's glee,
He chased from the wild flowers the singing bee;
And follow'd afar, with a heart as light

As its sparkling wings, the butterfly's flight;

And pull'd young flowers, where they grew 'neath the beams
Of the sun's fair light, by his own blue streams ;-
Yet he left all these through the world to roam !
Why, oh mother! did he leave his home?"

"Calm thy young thoughts, my own fair child!
The fancies of youth and age are beguiled;—

Though pale grow thy cheeks, and thy hair turn grey,
Time cannot steal the soul's youth away!

There's a land, of which thou hast heard me speak,
Where age never wrinkles the dweller's cheek;

But in joy they live, fair boy! like thee

It was there the old man long'd to be!

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"For he knew that those with whom he had played,
In his heart's young joy, 'neath their cottage shade-
Whose love he shared, when their songs and mirth
Brighten'd the gloom of this sinful earth-
Whose names from our world had passed away,
As flowers in the breath of an autumn day-
He knew that they, with all suffering done,
Encircled the throne of the Holy One!

"Though ours be a pillar'd and lofty home,
Where want, with his pale train, never may come,
Oh, scorn not the poor, with the scorner's jest,
Who seek in the shade of our hall to rest;
For He, who hath made the poor, may soon
Darken the sky of our glowing noon,

And leave us with woe, in the world's bleak wild

Oh, soften the griefs of the poor, my child!"

William P. Brown.

SAXON SONG OF SUMMER.

SUMMER is a coming in,

Loud sing, cuckoo ;

Groweth seed, and bloweth mead,
And springeth the wood new.

Sing, cuckoo, cuckoo!

Ewe bleateth after lamb;

Loweth calf after cow;

Bullock starteth, buck departeth ;

Merry sing, cuckoo;

Cuckoo, cuckoo ;

Well singeth the cuckoo

Sing ever, stop never,

Cuckoo, cuckoo ;

Sing, cuckoo !

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