I have a secret I would like
The little girls to know;
But I wont tell a single boy-
They rob the poor birds so.

We have four pretty little nests,
We watch them with great care;
Full fifty eggs are in this tree-
Don't tell the boys they're here.

Joe Thomson robbed the nest last year,
And year before, Tom Brown;

I'll tell it loud as I can sing,
To every one in town.

Swallow and sparrow, lark and thrush,

Will tell you just the same:

To make us all so sorrowful,
It is a wicked shame.

Oh, did you hear the concert
This morning from our tree?

We give it every morning

Just as the clock strikes three.

We praise our great Creator,
Whose holy love we share:

Dear children, learn to praise Him too,
For all his tender care.

Youth's Penny Gazette.

ANNA'S RESOLUTION.

Well, now I'll sit down, and I'll work very fast,
And try if I can't be a good girl at last;
'T is better than being so sulky and haughty,
I'm really quite tired of being so naughty.

For as mamma says, when my business is done,
There's plenty of time left to play and to run;
But when 't is my work-time, I ought to sit still;
And I know that I ought, so I certainly will.

But for fear, after all, I should get at my play,
I will put little doll in the closet away;

And I'll not look to see what the kitten is doing, Nor yet think of any thing else but my sewing. I'm sorry I've idled so often before,

But I hope I shall never do so any more:

Mamma will be pleased when she sees how I mend,

And have done this long seam from beginning

to end.

PRETTY BEE.

Taylor.

Pretty bee, pray tell me why

Thus from flower to flower you fly,
Culling sweets the livelong day,

Never leaving off to play.

Little child, I'll tell you why

Thus from flower to flower I fly :
Let the truth thy thoughts engage,
From thy youth to riper age.

Summer flowers will soon be o'er;
Winter comes, they bloom no more:
Fairest days will soon be past;
Brightest suns will set at last.

Little child, now learn of me:
Let thy youth thy seed-time be;
Then, when wintry age has come,
Richly bear thy harvest home.

I asked a sweet robin, one morning in May, Who sung in the apple-tree over the way, What 't was she was singing so sweetly about, For I'd tried a long time, but could not find out : "Why, I'm sure," she replied, "you cannot guess wrong;

Don't you know I am singing a temperance song?

"Teetotal-O that's the first word of my lay; And then don't you see how I twitter away?

'T is because I've just dipped my beak in the

spring,

And brushed the fair face of the lake with my

wing.

Cold water, cold water, yes, that is my song, And I love to keep singing it all the day long.

"And now, my sweet miss, wont you give me a crumb;

For the dear little nestlings are waiting at home?

And one thing besides; since my story you've

heard,

I hope you'll remember the lay of the bird; And never forget, while you list to my song, All the birds to the cold-water army belong.

E. P. Hood's Temperance Melodies.

THE CHILD IN HEAVEN.

A little child who loves to pray,
And read his Bible too,

Shall rise above the sky one day,

And sing as angels do;

Shall live in heaven, that world above,

Where all is joy and peace and love.