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Such a number of rooks came over her head,
Crying “Caw! Caw!” on their way to bed,
She said, as she watched their curious flight,
“ Little black things, good-night, good-night!”
The horses neighed, and the oxen lowed,
The sheep's “Bleat! Bleat !” came over the road;
All seeming to say, with a quiet delight,
“Good little girl, good-night, good-night!”
She did not say to the sun, “Good-night!”
Though she saw him there like a ball of light;
For she knew he had God's time to keep
All over the world, and never could sleep.
The tall pink foxglove bowed his head;
The violets curtsied, and went to bed ;
And good little Lucy tied up her hair,
And said, on her knees, her favorite prayer.
And, while on her pillow she softly lay,
She knew nothing more till again it was day;
And all things said to the beautiful sun,
“Good-morning, good-morning! our work is begun!

CHOOSING A NAME.

MARY LAMB.

I HAVE got a new-born sister;
I was nigh the first that kissed her
When the nursing-woman brought her
To papa — his infant daughter !

And papa has made the offer,
I shall have the naming of her.

Now I wonder what would please her —
Charlotte, Julia, or Louisa ?
Ann and Mary, they're too common;
Joan's too formal for a woman;
Jane's a prettier name beside;
But we had a Jane that died.
They would say, if 'twas Rebecca,
That she was a little Quaker.

Edith's pretty, but that looks
Better in old English books ;
Ellen's left off long ago;
Blanche is out of fashion now.
None that I have named as yet
Are so good as Margaret.

Emily is neat and fine;
What do you think of Caroline ?
How I'm puzzled and perplexed
What to choose or think of next!
I am in a little fever
Lest the name that I should give her
Should disgrace her or defame her —
I will leave papa to name her!

Be gentle! The sea is held in check, not by a wall of brick, but by a beach of sand.

A NOVEMBER CHILD.

R. W. GILDER.

NOVEMBER winds, blow mild
On this new-born child !
Spirit of the autumn wood,
Make her gentle, make her good!
Still attend her,
And befriend her,
Fill her days with warmth and color;
Keep her safe from winter's dolor.
On thy bosom
Hide this blossom,
Safe from summer's rain and thunder!
When these eyes of light and wonder
Tire at last of earthly places —
Full of years and full of graces —
Then, 0 then
Take her back to heaven again!

BABY'S SHOES.

W. C. BENNETT.

Oh, those little, those little blue shoes !
Those shoes that no little feet use;

Oh, the price were high

That those shoes could buy, Those little blue, unused shoes.

For they hold the small shape of feet
That no more their mother's eyes meet;

That by God's good will

Years since grew still,
And ceased from their totter so sweet. .

And oh, since that baby slept
So hushed, how the mother has kept,

With a tearful pleasure,

That dear little treasure,
And over them thought and wept !

For they mind her for evermore
Of a patter along the floor;

And blue eyes she sees

Look up from her knees,
With the look that in life they wore.

As they lie before her there,
There babbles from chair to chair,

A little sweet face

That's a gleam in the place, With its little gold curls of hair.

Then, oh, wonder not that her heart
From all else would rather part,

Than those tiny blue shoes

That no little feet use, And whose sight makes such fond tears start.

PHILIP, MY KING.

DINAH MARIA MULOCH.

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Look at me with thy large brown eyes,

Philip, my King!
For round thee the purple shadow lies
Of babyhood's regal dignities.
Lay on my neck thy tiny hand,

With Love's invisible sceptre laden;
I am thine Esther to command
Till thou shalt find thy queen hand-maiden,

Philip, my King!

Oh, the day when thou goest a-wooing,

Philip, my King !
When those beautiful lips are suing,
And, some gentle heart's bars undoing,
Thou dost enter, love-crowned, and there

Sittest all glorified !-- Rule kindly,
Tenderly, over thy kingdom fair;
For we that love, ah! we love so blindly,

Philip, my King !

I gaze from thy sweet mouth up to thy brow,

Philip, my King !
Ay, there lies the spirit, all sleeping now,
That may rise like a giant, and make men bow
As to one God-throned amidst his peers.

.
My Saul, than thy brethren higher and fairer,
Let me behold thee in coming years !

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