When Mary chose the "better part," She meekly sat at Jesus' feet; And Lydia's gently-opened heart Was made for God's own temple meet; -Fairest and best adorn'd is she Whose clothing is humility. The saint that wears heaven's brightest crown, The weight of glory bows him down, 1. What song-bird soars highest? 6. What is meant by the "better part?"" 7. In what should we imitate Mary? 8. Under whose preaching did the Lord open Lydia's heart? 9. Who, does the poet say, bends lowest in presence of his God. COMMON THINGS. THE SUN is a glorious thing, MRS HAWKSHAWE. The moonlight is a gentle thing, It shines upon the fisher's boat, Or where the little lambkins lie, The dew-drops on the summer morn, The village children brush them off, There are no gems in monarch's crowns, And yet we scarcely notice them, Poor Robin on the pear-tree sings, Beside the cottage door; The heath-flower fills the air with sweets, Upon the pathless moor. There are as many lovely things, For those who sit by cottage-hearths THE DYING BOY. I KNEW a boy, whose infant feet had trod And when the eighth came round, and called him out And sought his chamber, to lie down and die! "Twas night-he summoned his accustomed friends, And, on this wise, bestowed his last bequest: "Mother! I'm dying now There is deep suffocation in my breast, "I feel the cold sweat stand; My lips grow dry and tremulous, and my breath "Here-lay it on my wrist, And place the other thus, beneath my head, "Never beside your knee Shall I kneel down again at night to pray, "Oh, at the time of prayer, When you look round and see a vacant seat, "Father! I'm going home! To the good home you speak of, that blest land "I must be happy then, From pain and death you say I shall be free- "Brother!-the little spot I used to call my garden, where long hours "Plant there some box or pineSomething that lives in winter, and will be A verdant offering to my memory, "Sister! my young rose tree That all the spring has been my pleasant care, "Now, mother! sing the tune You sang last night-I'm weary and must sleep! Morning spread over earth her rosy wings- |