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THE BIRD's NEST. Now the sun rises bright and soars high in the air,

The trees smile around us in green ; The sweet little birds to the meadows repair, And pick up the moss, and the lamb's wool and hair,

To make their nests soft, warm, and clean.

High up in some tree, far away from the town,

Where they think naughty boys cannot creep, They build it with twigs, and they line it with down; And lay their neat eggs, speckled over with brown ;

And sit till the little ones peep.

Then come, little boy, shall we go to the wood,

And climb up yon very tall tree ; And while the old birds are gone out to get food, Take down the warm nest, and the cheruping brood,

And divide them betwixt you and me?

But ah! don't you think ’twould be wicked and bad,

To take their poor nestlings away ; And after the toil and the trouble they've had, When they think themselves safe, and are singing sa

glad, To spoil all their work for our?play?

Suppose some great creature, a dozen yards high,

Should stalk up at night to your bed ; And out of the window, away with you fly, Nor stop while you bid your dear parents good bye,

Nor care for a word that you said :
And take you, not one of your friends could tell where,

And fasten you down with a chain ;
And feed you with victuals you never could bear,
And hardly allow you to breathe the fresh air,

Nor ever to come back again ;
Oh ! how for your dearest mamma would you sigh,

And long to her bosom to run :
And try to break out of your prison, and cry,
And dread the huge monster, so cruel and sly,

Who took you away for his fun.
Then say, little boy, shall we climb the tall tree?

Ah! no—but this lesson we'll learn,
That 'twould just as cruel and terrible be,
As if such a monster should take away thee,

Not ever again to return.
Then sleep, little innocents, sleep in your nest,

To take you away would be wrong:
And when the next summer in green shall be drest,
And your merry music shall join with the rest,

You'll pay us for all with a song.

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When spring shall return, to the woodlands we'll hie,

And sit by yon very tall tree ;
And rejoice, as we hear your sweet carols on high,
With silken wings soaring amid the blue sky,

That we left you to sing and be free.

A. T.

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A Hermit there was, and he liv'd in a grot,
And the way to be happy, they said he had got.
As I wanted to learn it, I went to his cell ;
And when I came there, the old hermit said, well!
Young man, by your looks you want something I see,
Come tell me the business which brings you to me.
Why, hermit, I answer’d, you say very true,
And I'll tell you the business which brings me to you.
The way to be happy, they say you have got,
As I wanted to learn it, I came to your grot;
Now I beg and I pray, if you have such a plan,
You'll write it down for me, as plain as you can.
Upon this the old hermit soon took up his pen,
And he brought me these lines, when he came back

again ;

It is being, and doing, and having, that make
All the pleasures and pains of which mortals partake:
Now to be what God pleases, to do a man's best,
And to have a good heart, is the way to be bless’d.

TO A CHILD WHO HAS TOLD AN

UNTRUTH.
And has dear Edwin told a lie ?
Did he forget that God was by ?
That God, who saw the thing he did,
From whom no action can be hid ;
Did he forget that God could see
And hear, wherever he might be ?
He made your eyes, and can discern
Which ever way you think to turn;
He made your ears, and he can hear
When you think nobody is near ;
In ev'ry place, by night or day,
He watches all you do and say.
You thought, because you were alone,
Your falsehood never could be known;
But cunning liars are found out,
Whatever ways they wind about:

And always be afraid, my dear,
To tell a lie--for God is near.

I wish, my love, you'd always try
To act as shall not need a lie;
And when you wish a thing to do,
That has been once forbidden you,
Remember that, nor ever dare
To disobey-for God is there.
Why should you fear to tell me true?
Confess, and then I'U pardon you ;
Tell me you're sorry, and you'll try
To act the better by and by;
And then, whate'er your crime has been,
It won't be half so great a sin: -

But cheerful, innocent, and gay,
As passes by the happy day,
You'll never have to turn aside,
From any one your faults to hide;
Nor heave a sigh, nor have a fear,
That either God or I should hear.

J. T.

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