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And the next shall copy his, sweetheart,
Till all grows fair and sweet;
Happy faces his coming will greet.
In thy garden so fair to see,
In a look of his own for thee.
ANONYMOUS. Little Jennie, fretful, sitting in a tree, Worried at the buzzing of a bumble-bee. Said she had a headache, wished it would be still, Knew it buzzed on purpose to defy her will. Buzzing bee was happy, busy at its work, Gathering stores of honey-never thought to shirk; Never thought of Jennie fretting in the tree, It was such a happy, busy little bee. Jennie grew more fretful when it answered not, Said 'twas really hateful—that was what she thought. Still the bee kept buzzing, glad its sphere to fill, Discontented Jennie may be fretting still. Are there not some Jennies, boys and girls, you know Who to fret at others are not slack or slow ? Forth to duty, children ! like the busy bee, Minding not cross Jennie, on her fretting tree.
296.—THE BRIGHT SIDE.
If we only would stop to take it,
If the querulous heart would wake it!
And whose beautiful trust ne'er faileth,
Though the wintry storm prevaileth.
And to keep the eyes still lifted;
When the ominous clouds are rifted !
Or an evening without a morning;
And the darkest hour, as the proverb goes,
Is the hour before the dawning.
Which we pass in our idle pleasure,
Or the miser's hoarded treasure: It may be the love of a little child,
Or a mother's prayers to Heaven; Or only a beggar's grateful thanks,
For a cup of water given.
A bright and golden filling,
And hands that are swift and willing,
Of our curious lives asunder, And then blame Heaven for the tangled ends,
And sit, and grieve, and wonder.
297.-A SINGING LESSON.
She sang a few notes out of tune-
And she hid from the moon.
But was far too proud to weep;
And pretended to be asleep.
Came sauntering up to the place;
Though feathers hid her face.
She felt them snicker and sneer;
And wished she could skip a year. “Oh, nightingale," cooed a dove, "Oh, nightingale, what's the use ? You, a bird of beauty and love,
Why behave like a goose? Don't skulk away from our sight
Like a common contemptible fowl; You bird of joy and delight,
Why behave like an owl?
• Only think of all you have done
Only think of all you can do ;
From such a bird as you !
Open your musical beak;
But you need only speak.”
Her head from under her wing,
Straightway began to sing.
The night was divinely calm-
To hear that wonderful psalm.
She only sang to the skies ;
And there she fixed her eyes.
She knew but little about-
If you'll try to find it out.
298.-FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS.
H. W. LONGFELLOW.
And the voices of the Night
To a holy, calm delight;
And, like phantoms grim and tall,
Dance upon the parlor wall;
Enter at the open door;
Come to visit me once more ;
Noble longings for the strife, By the roadside fell and perished,
Weary with the march of life!
They, the holy ones and weakly,
Who the cross of suffering bore,
Spake with us on earth no more!
Who unto my youth was given,
And is now a saint in heaven.
Comes that messenger divine,
Lays her gentle hand in mine.
With those deep and tender eyes,
Looking downward from the skies.
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer,
Breathing from her lips of air.
All my fears are laid aside,
Such as these have lived and died!
JOSEPH COOK. Looking around the globe to-day, we see an unbroken line of Christian influences in the near future, stretching from the Yosemite to the Sandwich Islands, to Australia, Japan, India, past the Suez Canal, thence to the Bosphorus, to Germany, to England, and then across that little brook we call the Atlantic, only two seconds wide now for electricity. There are no foreign lands. Christianity at this hour reads her Scriptures, and lifts up her anthems, in two hundred languages. One-half of the missionaries of the globe may be reached from Boston by telegraph in twenty-four hours. God is making commerce his missionary.
It is incontrovertible that it was predicted ages ago, that a chosen man called yonder out of Ur of the Chaldees should become a chosen family, and this a chosen nation, and that in this nation should appear a chosen Supreme Teacher of the
race, and that he should found a chosen church, and that, to his chosen people, with zeal for good works, should ultimately be given all nations and the isles of the sea. In precisely this order world-history has unrolled itself, and is now unrolling. No man can deny this. No man can meditate adequately on this without blanched cheeks. What are the signs of the times which I have recounted on this festal morn, but added waves in this fathomlessly mysterious gulf-current? We know it began with the ripple we call Abraham. It is now almost as broad as the Atlantic itself.
What providence does, it from the first intends to do. We see what it has done. We know what it intended. It has caused this gulf-current to flow in one direction two thousand, three thousand, four thousand years. Good tidings, this gulfcurrent, if we float with it!-good tidings which are to be to all peoples! A Power not ourselves makes for righteousness. It has steadily caused the fittest to survive, and thus has executed a plan of choosing a peculiar people. The survival of the fittest will ultimately give the world to the fit. Are we, in our anxiety for the future, to believe that this law will alter soon? or to fear that He whose will the law expresses, and who never slumbers nor sleeps, will change his plan to-morrow, or the day after ?
300.--SELECTIONS IN VERSE.
WINDING MY WATCH.