Forth from the glad circle, their sweet infants bringing,
  Came parents, with mild, thoughtful mien;
What deep, tender thoughts in all bosoms were springing! 
  How solemn, how sacred the scene.

And I could not keep back the hot tears, my dear mother,
  Which came thick and fast to my eyes;
For those babes made me think of my own darling brother,
  Now gone to his home in the skies.

When this service was over, my playmates came round
  And drew me away to the wood;
No longer light-hearted and merry they found me,
  For thoughtful and sad was my mood.

So on the soft turf I sat silently thinking,
  Of days when dear brother was by;
While slowly and surely the bright sun was sinking,
  Far down in the clear western sky.

Ring, ring, went the bell; and then, O, what a hustling! 
  All knew ’twas the signal to part;
What searching for bonnets and boxes! what bustling! 
  All hurrying, eager to start.

We left ere the shadows of evening were dimming
  The broad fields and woods all around;
And with our swift steam-horse, again we went skimming
  Through village, and meadow, and town.

We soon reached the city, and after the saying
  Of cheerful “Good night,” to our friends,
We sought our own home without further delaying,
  And the rest night to weariness sends.

’Twas a blest, happy day; and oft in my dreaming
  That cool, shady grove do I see,
With its bright little spots where the sunlight lay gleaming,
  And all that was pleasant to me.

And much do I hope, when again, my dear mother,
  The summer shall come with its flowers,
Our teachers will kindly allow us another
  Such Pic-nic, mid Nature’s green bowers.

RAIN DROPS.

“O mamma, how fast it rains!  Do see those bright and sparkling drops, as they fall so rapidly on the green walks and beautiful flowers!  Just see how revived that little fainting flower looks on the farther border.  It was but yesterday I thought it would die.  It drooped its head as if to avoid the rays of the scorching sun; but now it is as fresh as any on my little bed.  Who was so kind, mamma, as to send this gentle shower, purposely, as I should think, to save my favorite flower?”

“‘Favorite,’ my child, did you say?  I thought you loved them all.”

“Oh, I do; but this one looked so sickly and faint, and I have watched it so anxiously, that it really seems dearer to me than all the rest; just as when we are sick, mamma, you watch us the more constantly, and love us the more tenderly.  But who did send the rain, mamma?”

“It was God, my child, who caused the gentle showers, not only to cheer your heart, by making the little flower revive, but to bless all his children.  Have you forgotten your little verse, about God sending ’rain on the just, and on the unjust?’”