Before the cow from her resting-place Thou wert alive, thou busy, busy bee! When the sweetest odour comes from the flower; Thou wert working late, thou busy, busy bee! 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! Still on thy golden stores intent, Thy youth in heaping and hoarding is spent, I will not copy thee, thou miserly bee! Thou art a fool, thou busy, busy bee! Thy master waits till thy work is done And will murder thee, thou poor little bee! THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. Under a spreading chesnut tree G His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His brow is wet with honest sweat, And looks the whole world in the face; Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, Like a sexton ringing a village bell, And children coming home from school They love to see the flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks that fly, He goes on Sunday to the church, He hears the parson pray and preach, Singing in the village choir, And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother's voice, He needs must think of her once more And with his hard rough hand he wipes Toiling, rejoicing,-sorrowing, Each morning sees some task begin, Something attempted, something done, Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, LONGFELLOW. THE WIDOW OF NAIN. She bends beneath the weight of years, Her son, her only son is gone! Oh, who shall wipe that eye? For she must journey lonely on, The pall upon his corse is spread, She follows on without a tear, The Saviour is that pitying one : ANONYMOUS. MY HOME, MY NATIVE LAND. * * * * * Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found? 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! And feel that thou kind watch wilt keep That thou wilt soothe us when we weep, ? Yet oft these hearts will whisper If we were near the friends we love, But sure thou❜lt love them dearer, Lord, And sure thou'lt draw the nearer, Lord, The further we are gone! Then why be sad, since thou wilt keep Since thou wilt soothe them when they weep, Oh! for that bright and happy land, The wicked cease from troubling, and Where friends are never parted, And none are broken-hearted, 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, |