The mother rabbits
Make cosy nests,
With hairy linings
From their breasts.

The tender young ones
Are nursed and fed,

And safely hidden

In this warm bed.

And when they are older,
They all come out
Upon the sand-hills,
And frisk about.

They play, and nibble
The long, dry grass,

But scamper away
Whenever you pass.

- Selected.

THER

CORN.

HERE is a plant you often see
In gardens and in fields;

Its stalk is straight, its leaves are long,

And precious fruit it yields.

The fruit, when young, is soft and white,
And closely wrapped in green,

And tassels hang from every ear,
Which children love to glean.

But when the tassels fade away
The fruit is ripe and old;

It peeps from out the wrapping dry,
Like beads of yellow gold.

The fruit, when young, we boil and roast,
When old, we grind it well.

Now, think of all the plants you know,

And try its name to tell.

- Selected.

A LESSON.

CORN-STALK glanced down at some grasses,
And said in an arrogant tone,

"I wish that my fawning relations
Would move off and leave me alone.

'Just see how they mix with the clovers, And nod at their red and white crests;

And even the poor silly daisies

They're ready to welcome as guests!

"No wonder each morn when they waken,
Their eyelids are heavy with tears,
Through envy of my rustling raiment,
And the gold drops that shine in my ears.

"'Tis true, we've a common venation; But that need not addle their brains; They're born to a lowly position,

There's no blood of mine in their veins."

With that she threw back her silk tassels,
And left them to wave in the breeze,
Nor took farther note of the grasses
That timidly crouched at her knees.

In autumn a reaper discovered

The corn-husk all withered and dried,

So he stripped off her bright golden ear-drops
And ruthlessly cast her aside;

And when the next spring's glowing sunshine
Caused Nature her white robe to doff,
And the earth showed a few snowy patches,
Like a cake with the frosting picked off;

I said of the pale, slender fingers

66

That the roots of the grasses sent forth, 'Ah, surely, the proud are made stubble, And the meek shall inherit the earth!"

- Selected.

I

THE CHILD AND THE WORLD.

SEE a nest in a green elm-tree

With little brown sparrows, one, two, three!

The elm-tree stretches its branches wide,

And the nest is soft and warm inside.

At morn the sun, so golden bright,
Climbs up to fill the world with light;

It opens the flowers, it wakens me,

And wakens the birdies, one, two, three.

And leaning out of my window high,

I look far up at the blue, blue sky,

And then far out at the earth so green,
And think it the loveliest ever seen,
The loveliest world that ever was seen!

But by and by, when the sun is low,
And birds and babies sleepy grow,
I peep again from my window high,
And look at the earth and clouds and sky
The night dew falls in silent showers,

To cool the hearts of thirsty flowers;
The moon comes out, the slender thing,

A crescent yet, but soon a ring,

And brings with her one yellow star;
How small it looks, away so far!

But soon, in the heaven's shining blue,
A thousand twinkle and blink at you,
Like a thousand lamps in the sky so blue.

And hush! a light breeze stirs the tree,
And rocks the birdies, one, two, three.

What a beautiful cradle, that soft, warm nest!
What a dear little coverlid, mamma-bird's breast!
She's hugging them close to her, tight, so tight
That each downy head is hid from sight;
But out from under her sheltering wings
Their bright eyes glisten, the cunning things!
I lean far out from my window's height
And say, "Dear, lovely world, good-night!

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'Good-night, dear, pretty, baby moon! Your cradle you'll outgrow quite soon, And then, perhaps, all night you'll shine, A grown-up lady moon! so fine

And bright that all the stars

Will want to light their lamps from yours.
Sleep sweetly, birdies, never fear,
For God is always watching near!
And you, dear, friendly world above,
The same One holds us in His love;
Both you so great, and I so small,
Are safe, He sees the sparrows fall,
The dear God watcheth over all!"

-Selected.

ΤΗ

A NATIONAL FLOWER.

HEY ask me to vote for a national flower;
Now, which will it be, I wonder.

To settle the question is out of my power,
But I'd rather not make a blunder.

And I love the Mayflower the best in May,
Smiling up from its snow-drift cover,
With its breath that is sweet as a kiss to say
That the reign of winter is over.

And I love the goldenrod, too, for its gold,
And because through autumn it lingers,
And offers more wealth than his hands can hold
To the grasp of the poor man's fingers.

I should vote for them both if I might;

But I do not feel positive whether

The flowers themselves would be neighborly quite,
Pink and yellow don't go together.