MY FATHER'S AT THE HELM.
THE curling waves, with awful roar,

A little boat assail'd;
And pallid fear's distracting power

O’er all on board prevailed-
Save one, the captain's darling child,

Who steadfast viewed the storm;
And cheerful, with composure, smiled

At danger's threatening form.

"And sport'st thou thus,” a seaman cried,

“While terrors overwhelm ?” “Why should I fear?” the boy replied,

“My father's at the helm !”

So when our worldly all is reft

Our earthly helper gone,
We still have one true anchor left-

God helps, and He alone.

He to our prayers will bend an ear,

He gives our pangs relief;
He turns to smiles each trembling tear,

To joy each torturing grief.

Then turn to Him, ʼmid sorrows wild,

When want and woes o’erwhelm; Remembering, like the fearless child,

Our Father's at the helm.

TO THE ROBIN.
LITTLE bird with bosom red,
Welcome to my humble shed!
Daily near my table steal,
While I take my scanty meal.
Doubt not, little though there be,
But I'll cast a crumb to thee;
Well rewarded if I spy,
Pleasure in thy glancing eye,

And see thee when thou'st had thy fill,
Plume thy breast and wipe thy biil.
Come, my feather'd friend, again,
Well thou know'st the broken pane;
Ask of me thy daily store,
Ever welcome to my door.

Langhorne.

MARY ANN'S CHILD. MARY ANN was alone with her baby in arms,

In her house with the trees overhead, For her husband was out in the night and the storms,

In his business a-toiling for bread; And she, as the wind in the elm-heads did roar, Did grieve to think he was all night out of door. And her kinsfolk and neighbours did say of her child,

(Under the lofty elm-tree),
That a prettier never did babble and smile

Up a-top of a proud mother's knee;
And his mother did toss him, and kiss him, and call
Him her darling and life, and her hope and her all.
But she found in the evening the child was not well

(Under the gloomy elm-tree),
And she felt she could give all the world for to tell

Of a truth what his ailing could be ; And she thought on him last in her prayers at night, And she look'd at him last as she put out the light. And she found him grow worse in the dead of the night,

(Under the gloomy elm-tree), And she press'd him against her warm bosom so tight,

And she rock'd him so sorrowfully; And there in his anguish a-nestling he lay, Till his struggles grew weak, and his cries died away. And the moon was a-shining down into the place

(Under the gloomy elm-tree), And his mother could see that his lips and his face

Were as white as clean ashes could be; .. And her tongue was a-tied, and her still heart did swell Till her senses came back with the first tear that fell.

Never more can she feel his warm face in her breast

(Under the leafy elm-tree),
For his eyes are a-shut, and his hands are at rest,

And he's now from his pain a-set free,
For his soul we do know is to heaven a-fled,
Where no pain is a-known, and no tears are a-shed.

W. Barnes.

THE SANDS O' DEE.
“O Mary! go and call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home,
Across the sands o' Dee.”
The western wind was wild and dank with foam,

And all alone went she.
The creeping tide came up along the sand,

And o'er and o’er the sand,

And round and round the sand,
As far as eye could see;
The blinding mist came down and hid the land

And never home came she.
Oh, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair ?-

A tress o golden hair,

O’drowned maiden's hair,
Above the nets at sea.
Was never salmon yet that shone so fair

Among the stakes o’Dee.
They row'd her in across the rolling foam,

The cruel crawling foam,

The cruel hungry foam,
To her grave beside the sea :
But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home,
Across the sands o' Dee.

C. Kingsley.,

THE FOUNTAIN. Into the sunshine,

Full of light, Leaping and flashing

From morn till night. . Into the moonlight

Whiter than snow, Waving so flower-like,

When the winds blow! Into the starlight,

Rushing in spray, Happy at midnight,

Happy by day! Ever in motion,

Blithesome and cheery, Still climbing leavenward,

Never aweary; Glad of all weathers,

Still seeming best, Upward or downward,

Motion thy rest; Full of a nature

Nothing can tame, Changed every moment-

Ever the same; Ceaseless aspiring,

Ceaseless content, Darkness or sunshine

Thy element.
Glorious fountain,

Let my heart be
Fresh, changeful, constant,
Upward, like thee!

Lowell.

THE MYSTERIES OF PROVIDENCE.
God moves in a mysterious way,

His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea,

And rides upon the storm.
Deep in unfathomable mines

Of never-failing skill,
He treasures up His bright designs,

And works His sovereign will.
Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take!

The clouds you so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break

In blessings on your head.
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,

But trust Him for His grace;
Behind a frowning Providence

He hides a smiling face.
His purposes will ripen fast,

Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,

But sweet will be the flower.
Blind unbelief is sure to err,

And scan His work in vain;
God is his own interpreter,
And He will make it plain.

Cowper.

THE THREE FISHERS.
THREE fishers went sailing away to the west,

Away to the west as the sun went down;
Each thought on the woman who loved him best,

And the children stood watching them out of the town;
For men must work, and women must weep,
And there's little to earn, and many to keep,

Though the harbour bar be moaning Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower,

And they trimn’d the lamps as the sun went down; They look'd at the squall, and they look'd at the shower,

And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and brown.