IN the barn the tenant cock,

Close to Partlet perch'd on high, Briskly crows, (the shepherd's clock!) Jocund that the morning's nigh.

Swifty from the mountain's brow, Shadows, nursed by night, retire; And the peeping sunbeam now Paints with gold the village spire.

Philomel forsakes the thorn,

Plaintive where she prates at night; And the lark, to meet the morn, Soars beyond the shepherd's sight.

From the low-roof'd cottage ridge,

See the chattering swallow spring; Darting through the one-arch'd bridge, Quick she dips her dappled wing.

Now the pine-tree's waving top

Gently greets the morning gale; Kidlings now begin to crop

Daisies on the dewy dale.

From the balmy sweet uncloy'd,

(Restless till her task be done,) Now the busy bee 's employ'd

Sipping dews before the sun.

Trickling through the creviced rock,

Where the limpid stream distils, Sweet refreshment waits the flock

When 'tis sun-drove from the hills.

Colin's for the promised corn

(Ere the harvest hopes are ripe) Anxious; while the huntsman's horn, Boldly sounding, drowns his pipe.

Sweet, O sweet, the warbling throng On the white-emblossom'd spray! Nature's universal song

Echoes to the rising day.

FAITHFUL ANNIE.

"WHY do you sit in the dull house, Annie?
See what a parcel of flowers I've found:
Columbines, violets, snowdrops, quakers,
And cowslips that grow in the meadow-ground.
The boys are flying their kites, or playing,
As merry as crickets, at bat-and-ball;

The girls are playing at 'jars of honey;'
But you, you are moping away from all."

"I must stay here in the house," said Annie, "Till mother comes back from her work to-night; Your voices sound through this open window, And I see from here the skies are bright.

I wish that I were out playing with you,
I wish I were one of the 'honey jars.'

I wish; but I might as well be wishing
To play some game with the moon and stars.

"For here, in the bed, poor Jennie lies moaning, And no friend or kin in the world has she; So mother says, our our Father in heaven Has given the care of poor Jennie to me. All day, dear mother is out at washing,

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To earn our rent and clothes and food;

So I can't go play at 'jars of honey,'
Or find sweet flowers, or hide in the wood,"

"Come! your mother is a mile from the village, And no one will tell her," said Lizzie May; "And as to Jane, she never will miss you, If you take but an hour from this tedious day." Though I very often feel tempted," said Annie, "I cast the wrong thoughts away from my mind; And, Lizzie, I could not deceive my mother, For neither pleasure nor peace should I find.

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"I have often thought of running, Lizzie,
And have put on my bonnet and tied the string;
Of running up the hill by the river,
Like a bird that flies with feathery wing;

But then I thought poor Jenny might suffer
For a cup
of water while I was gone,

Or would ask about the time or weather,
And, getting no answer, would feel forlorn.

"And often when I'm tired, and longing
To steal away to the beautiful wood,
I think how glad it will make the Saviour
To see me sitting here patient and good.

I think were He to enter this chamber,

As he enter'd the house of Galilee,

How I should wish Him to smile with pleasure, And say, Well done, faithful child!' unto me.”

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