Before the stars are in the sky
The daisy goes to rest,

And folds its little shining leaves
Upon its golden breast.

And so it sleeps in dewy night
Until the morning breaks,
Then, with the songs of early birds,
So joyously awakes.

And children, when they go to bed,
Should fold their hands in prayer,
And place themselves, and all they love,
In God's almighty care.

Then they may sleep secure and still,
Through hours of darksome night,

And with the pretty daisy wake
In cheerful morning light.

On a swinging little shelf

Were some pretty little books; And I reckon'd from their looks, That the darling little elf,

Whose they were,

Was the careful little girl,

With her auburn hair a-curl.

In a little chest of drawers,

Everything was nice and prim,
And was always kept so trim,
That her childish little stores,
Books or toys,

In good order could be found,-
Never careless thrown around.

And she laid her bonnet by,

When she hasten'd home from school;

For it was her constant rule,

And she was resolved to try,

School or home,

How to prove the saying true,-
"Order in all things you do."

When she put away her shawl,
Nicely laying by her book,
She had only once to look
In its place to find her doll
Snugly there:

She could shut her smiling eyes,

Sure to find her pretty prize.

See her books;-how clean they are!

Corners not turn'd down, I know.

There's a marker, made to show
In her lessons just how far.
Dog-ear'd books

Are a certain sign to me
That the girl must careless be.

She's as tidy as a pink!

Clean and neat, and gentle too; If you take her actions through, Just the same, I know, you'll think. School or home,

I'm very glad the spring is come-the sun shines out so bright,

The little birds upon the trees are singing for delight. The young grass looks so fresh and green, the lambkins

sport and play,

And I can skip and run about as merrily as they.

C

I like to see the daisy and the buttercups once more,

The primrose and the cowslip too, and every pretty.

flower;

I like to see the butterfly fluttering her painted wing, And all things seem just like myself, so pleased to see the spring.

The fishes in the little brook are jumping up on high,

The lark is singing sweetly as she mounts into the sky; The rooks are building up their nests upon the great tall tree,

And everything's as busy and as happy as can be.

There's not a cloud upon the sky, there's nothing dark or sad;

I jump, and scarce know what to do, I feel so very glad. God must be very good indeed, who made each pretty thing:

I'm sure we ought to love Him much for bringing back the spring.

THE COTTAGER TO HER INFANT.

THE days are cold, the nights are long,
The north-wind sings a doleful song;
Then hush again upon my breast;
All merry things are now at rest,

Save thee, my pretty love!