Rejoiced, he finds his morning fare,
His dinner lies-he knows not where ;
Still trusts he to that loving hand,
Which all things needful will command.
Poems for Infant Schools.

27.

"WHO MADE US?"

"Mother, who made the stars which light

The beautiful blue sky?

Who made the moon so clear and bright,
And placed it up on high ?"

""Twas God, my child, the glorious One,

Who formed them by his

power,

He made alike the brilliant sun,
And every leaf and flower.

"He made your little feet to walk;
Your sparkling eyes to see;
Your busy prattling tongue to talk ;
Your limbs so light and free.

"He gives each fragrant flower that blows

Its loveliness and bloom;

He gives the violet and the rose
Their beauty and perfume.

"Our various wants He doth supply,

And blesses every hour;

We're kept beneath his watchful eye,
And guarded by his power.

"Then let your little heart, my love, Its grateful homage pay,

To this kind friend, who from above

Preserves you every day."

Monthly Preceptor.

28.

THE BUTTERFLY.

That pretty little butterfly

By the great God was made;

And spots and streaks of various dye
Upon its wings are laid.

He made those wings, and it can rise
Far, far above my head;

And taught by him how well it knows
On what it may be fed!

Not all the men in all the world
Can make one, if they try;
The power belongs to God alone
To form a butterfly.

Then surely I should never dare
To hurt these creatures small;
Since little insects are His care,
Who made and loves us all!

Poems for Infant Schools.

29.

THE MOUSE.

I have seen you little mouse
Running all about the house,
Through the hole your little eye
Peeping stealthily, I spy.

Soon you hope some crumbs to steal,
To make up your evening meal.
Look, before you venture out,
See if pussy is about.

If she's gone you'll quickly run
To the larder, full of fun,
Round about the dishes creep,
Taking into each a peep.

In preserves your tail is whisking,
Now through jellies you are frisking.
In the sauce your nose you've dipp'd,
Into soup too you have skipp'd.
Come, I'm sure you've had enough
Of such rich unwholesome stuff.
Though now you've had so much to eat
You mayn't again have such a treat;
For I see pussy peeping through
The window-oh, she looks at you,
Now she's leapt in-fly! mousey, fly!
If she should catch you, you must die.
Puss, I fear, runs fastest too;
What will now poor mousey do?
Now he's slackening in his flight,
Now he's panting with affright,
Now he makes one effort more
To reach his hole across the floor;

There he has arrived at last,
And reflects thus on the past:
In future here I will remain,
Nor yield to flattery again,
For sweeter is the coarsest fare,
Eaten without alarm or care.

Poetic Sketches.

30.

EVENING HYMN.

As now another day is gone
We'll sing our Maker's praise,
Our comforts every hour make known,
His providence and grace.

We lay our bodies down to sleep,
O Father! guard our head,

And through the hours of darkness keep
A watch around our bed.

E