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THE BAG OF THE BEE.
About the sweet bag of a bee.

Two Cupids fell at odds ;
And whose the pretty prize should be,

They vow'd to ask the gods.
Which hearing, Venus thither came,

And for their boldness stripp'd them; And taking thence from each his flame,

With rods of myrtle whipp'd them. Which done, to still their wanton cries,

When quiet grown she'd seen them, She kiss'd and wiped their dove-like eyes, And gave the bag between them.

Donne.

THE BLIND BOY.
O SAY! what is that thing call'd light,

Which I must ne'er enjoy ?
What are the blessings of the sight,

O tell your poor blind boy!
You talk of wond’rous things you see,

You say the sun shines bright;
I feel him warm, but how can he,

Or make it day or night?
My day or night myself I make,

Whene'er I sleep or play ;
And could I ever keep awake

With me 'twere always day. With heavy sighs I often hear

You mourn my hapless woe,
But sure with patience I can bear

A loss I ne'er can know.
Then let not what I cannot have

My cheer of mind destroy ;
While thus I sing, I am a king,
Although a poor blind boy.

Colley Cilber.

CHEERFULNESS.
The wind blows east, the wind blows west,

And the frost falls, and the rain ;
A weary heart went thankful to rest,

And must rise to toil again, 'gain,

And must rise to toil again.
The wind blows east, the wind blows west,

And there comes good luck and bad;
The thriftiest man is the cheerfullest;
'T'is a thriftless thing to be sad, sad,

'Tis a thriftless thing to be sad. The wind blows east, the wind blows west;

What skills it to mourn or to talk ? A journey I have, and far ere I rest;

1 must bundle my wallets and walk, walk, I must bundle my wallets and walk.

Carlyle.

THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED.
TREAD softly! bow the head-

In reverent silence bow;
No passing bell doth toll
Yet an immortal soul

Is passing now.
Stranger ! however great,

With lowly reverence bow;
There's one in that poor shed-
One by that paltry bed-

Greater than thou !
Beneath that beggar's roof,

Lo! Death doth keep his state;
Enter--no crowds attend;
Enter—no guards defend

This palace gate.
That pavement damp and cold,

No smiling courtiers tread;
One silent wonian stands
Lifting with meagre hands

A dying head.

No mingling voices sound-

An infant wail alone;
A sob suppress’d-again
That short deep gasp, and then

The parting groan.
Oh, change !--oh, wondrous change!

Burst are the prison bars-
This moment there, so low,
So agonised, and now

Beyond the stars !
Oh, change !-stupendous change!

There lies the soulless clod:
The sun eternal breaks-
The new immortal wakes--
Wakes with his God.

Mrs. Southey (C. Boules).

THE LITTLE SCARECROW GIRL.
SHE's up in yonder field,

'Mid the new-sown corn,
She'll be there until the eve,

She has been there since morn.
O the pretty little creature with the bright blue eye,
I heard her noisy clapper and her scarecrow cry.

I paused to mark the child

She was very pale and young;
She told me she was "six”

With her merry little tongue.
In her hand she held her hat,

Which the wild wind sway'd;
And purple were the feet

Of the scarecrow maid.
More happy than a queen,

Though scanty was her food,
The child that sang her song

To that clapper music rude.
This, the maiden's simple lay,

As she warbled in her nook,
“Here, clapping every day,

I scare the robber rook.”—Capern.

LITTLE WHITE LILY.
LITTLE white Lily
Sat by a stone,
Drooping and waiting
Till the sun shone.
Little white Lily
Sunshine has fed;
Little white Lily
Is lifting her head.
Little white Lily
Said, “It is good;
Little white Lily's
Clothing and food.”
Little white Lily,
Dress'd like a bride!
Shining with whiteness,
And crown'd beside!
Little white Lily
Droopeth with pain,
Waiting and waiting
For the wet rain.
Little white Lily
Holdeth her cup;
Rain is fast falling,
And filling it up.
Little white Lily
Said, “Good again,
When I am thirsty
To have nice rain;
Now I am stronger,
Now I am cool;
Heat cannot burn me,
My veins are so full.”
Little white Lily
Smells very sweet:
On her head sunshine,
Rain at her feet.
“Thanks to the sunshine,
Thanks to the rain !
Little white Lily
Is happy again!"

G. MacDonald. DEATH-BED REMEMBRANCES. I REMEMBER, I remember,

The house where I was born,
The little window, where the sun

Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon,

Nor brought too long a day;
But now I often wish the night

Had borne my breath away. I remember, I remember,

The roses red and white, The violets and the lily-cups,

Those flowers made of liglit;
The lilacs where the robins built,

And where my brother set
The laburnum, on his birthday :

The tree is living yet!
I remember, I remember,

The fir-trees dark and high ;
I used to think their slender spires,
· Were close against the sky.
It was a childish ignorance,

But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from heaven

Than when I was a boy.
I remember, I remember,

Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh

To swallows on the wing.
My spirit flew in feathers,

That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow.

Hood.

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