nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul.

Psalm viii. 4, 5.-What is man that Thou art mindful of him, or the son of man, that Thou visitest him? For Thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honour.

How beautiful the setting sun!
The clouds, how bright and gay!
The stars, appearing one by one,
How beautiful are they!

And when the moon climbs up the sky,
And sheds her gentle light,

And hangs her crystal lamp on high,
How beautiful is night!

And can it be I am possessed

Of something brighter far?

Glows there a light within this breast

Outshining every star?

Yes; should the sun and stars turn pale,

The mountains melt away,

This flame within shall never fail,

But live in endless day.

This is the soul that God to me,
His child, so kindly gives;
That wondrous soul we cannot see,
That ever, ever lives!

Spared to another spring,

We raise our grateful songs; "Tis pleasant, Lord, thy praise to sing For praise to thee belongs.

Ten thousand different flowers
To thee sweet offerings bear
And cheerful birds, in shady bowers,
Sing forth thy tender care.

The fields on every side,
The trees on every hill,

The glorious sun, the rolling tide,
Proclaim thy wondrous skill.

But trees, and fields, and skies,
Still praise a God unknown:
For gratitude and love can rise
From human hearts alone.

Then let these hearts of ours
Thy name for ever bless:

The blossom of ten thousand flowers

Would please our Maker less.

While earth itself decays,

Our souls can never die :

O! tune them all to sing thy praise In better songs on high.

TO THE STORMY PETREL.

Bird of the stormy wave,

Bird of the sea,

Wide is thy sweep,

And thy course is free!
Cleaving the blue air,
And brushing the foam,
Air is thy field of sport,
Ocean thy home.

Bird of the sea,

I could envy thy wing!
O'er the blue waters
I mark thy glad spring ;
I see thy pinions,
As onward they glide,
Dashed by the foam

Of the white crusted tide.

Bird of the wave, thou art but for a day, Ocean and earth must alike pass away; Why should I see thee with envious eye? My sweep is wider-my course is more high.

Yet, if my thoughts on earth's pleasures are bent,

If my desires in this world are pent, Poor little bird, I may envy thee still, For the end of thy being thou dost fulfil.

LESSON III.

INSTINCT-CONSCIENCE-MAN'S POWER OF

CHOOSING-SIN.

Newman's "Soul," Part III., Section 1.-Channing's Sermons: "The Evil of Sin," vol. iv., p. 151; and "The Sunday School," vol. iv., p. 357.

A WEEK or two after the day when Walter and his mother sat watching the sunset, and talking about the wonderful soul, Walter came into the house one day, saying:

"Have you seen the gooseberry-trees by the gate, mother? they are all covered over with caterpillars, and they are eating up the young leaves so fast! I have been sitting on the ground watching them for a long time. I saw one of them begin upon a fresh leaf, and it had eaten quite a large hole in it before I came in ! What do they eat besides gooseberry leaves, mother?" Mother." I do not know of anything else that they eat, except the leaves of the hawthorn."

Walter." Then what did they have to live upon all winter ?"