Before the cow from her resting-place
Had risen up, and left her trace
On the meadow with dew so gray,
I saw thee, thou busy, busy bee!

Thou wert alive, thou busy, busy bee!
When the crowd in their sleep were dead;
Thou wert abroad in the freshest hour,

When the sweetest odour comes from the flower;
Man will not learn to leave his lifeless bed,
And be wise and copy thee, thou busy, busy bee!

Thou wert working late, thou busy, busy bee!
After the fall of the cistus-flower,

I heard thee last as I saw thee first,

When the primrose-tree blossom was ready to burst, In the coolness of the evening hour

I heard thee, thou busy, busy bee!

Thou art a miser, thou busy, busy bee!
Late and early at employ;

Still on thy golden stores intent,

Thy youth in heaping and hoarding is spent,
What thy age will never enjoy;

I will not copy thee, thou miserly bee!

Thou art a fool, thou busy, busy bee!
Thus for another to toil;

Thy master waits till thy work is done
Till the latest flowers of the ivy are gone,
And then he will seize the spoil,

And will murder thee, thou poor little bee!

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.

Under a spreading chesnut tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.

G

His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;

His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate'er he can,

And looks the whole world in the face;
For he owes not any man.

Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;

You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,

Like a sexton ringing a village bell,
When the evening sun is low.

And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;

They love to see the flaming forge,

And hear the bellows roar,

And catch the burning sparks that fly,
Like chaff from a thrashing-floor.

He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;

He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice,

Singing in the village choir,

And it makes his heart rejoice.

It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in paradise!

He needs must think of her once more
How in the grave she lies;

And with his hard rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.

Toiling, rejoicing,-sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;

Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;

Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught !
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought!

LONGFELLOW.

THE WIDOW OF NAIN.
O mingle with the widow's tears
The drops for misery shed;

She bends beneath the weight of years,
Her earthly hope is fled.

Her son, her only son is gone!

Oh, who shall wipe that eye?

For she must journey lonely on,
And solitary die.

The pall upon his corse is spread,
The bier they slowly raise;
It cannot wake the slumbering dead,
That widow'd mother's gaze.

She follows on without a tear,
Her dear, her darling child :
But who is he that stops the bier,
With look and accent mild?

The Saviour is that pitying one :
His glance her woe disarms-
"Young man arise '—a living son
Is in his mother's arms!

ANONYMOUS.

MY HOME, MY NATIVE LAND.
There is a land, of every land the pride,
Beloved of heaven o'er all the world beside;
Where brighter suns disperse serener light,
And milder moons emparadise the night;
A land of beauty, virtue, valour, truth,
Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth,
There is a spot of earth supremely blest,
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest.

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*

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Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found?
Art thou a man? a patriot? look around;
O thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam,
That land thy country, and that spot thy home.

SEPARATION.

When friend from friend is parting,

And in each speaking eye

The silent tear is starting

To tell what words deny;

How could we bear the heavy load

Of such heart agony,

Could we not cast it all, O God!
Our gracious God, on thee,

And feel that thou kind watch wilt keep
When we are far away?

That thou wilt soothe us when we weep,
And hear us when we pray

?

Yet oft these hearts will whisper
That better would betide,

If we were near the friends we love,
And watching by their side:

But sure thou❜lt love them dearer, Lord,
For trusting thee alone.

And sure thou'lt draw the nearer, Lord,

The further we are gone!

Then why be sad, since thou wilt keep
Watch o'er them day by day?

Since thou wilt soothe them when they weep,
And hear them when they pray!

Oh! for that bright and happy land,
Where far amid the blest,

The wicked cease from troubling, and
The weary are at rest.

Where friends are never parted,
Once met around thy throne,

And none are broken-hearted,
Since all with thee are one!
Yet oh, till then watch o'er us keep,
While far from thee away,
And soothe us, Lord, oft as we weep,

And hear us when we pray!

'EARLY TO BED, AND EARLY TO RISE.'

"Early to bed, and early to rise!'

Aye, note it down in your brain;

For it helpeth to make the foolish wise,
And uproots the weeds of pain.