We tune our harps to sadness,
  And songs of sorrow sing,
And to the Father’s altar,
  A mournful tribute bring.

No more thou strowest flowers
  Of sunshine o’er our path;
Thy song forever silent,
  Thy voice is hushed in death.

Yet not for thee we sorrow,
  Thy sorrows all are o’er;
Thine earthly journey ended,
  Thou’st reached that happy shore,

Where spirits blest are waiting,
  To welcome thee above;
There evermore to lead thee
  In realms of peace and love.

And hand in hand with angels,
  Around God’s throne to stand,
Warbling sweet anthems ever,
  Amid that heavenly band.

Farewell! we would not wake thee,
  ’T were vain to wish thee here;
A Father’s arms receive thee,
  Sleep on, nor danger fear.

Rise! and in Jesus’ kingdom
  Thy blissful station take;
A Father’s house is open,
  To life immortal wake!

OBT.  Alberta Richardson, aged 8 years and 4 mos.; a beloved member of the 2nd Universalist Sabbath school.

THE DISCONTENTED SQUIRREL.

A FABLE.

In a wood, pleasantly situated in the southern part of ——­, there lived a squirrel.  One day, as it was viewing the departure of some migratory birds from its neighborhood, it could not prevent the escape of a deep sigh, accompanied with the exclamation, “O dear!  I wish some land fairy would make me a bird.  I could then soar to a great height, or dart swiftly through the air.  Even if I were a little fish, to play about in the water, I should be much better satisfied than in living here all my life, and having nothing to do but gather nuts and acorns.”

At that moment, a fairy, who was near, having heard the soliloquy of the discontented squirrel, immediately complied with its wish, and changed it into a beautiful bird.  This amazed the poor squirrel very much, and when it attempted to call the attention of its companions by its customary chatter, its scream ended in a song.

The squirrel now thought its happiness was complete, and it concluded to make use of its wings by a visit to some distant land.  It had not gone far before a storm arose, and it was obliged to take shelter in a tree.  It now began to wish it was in its snug little nest with its former companions.

The storm was soon over, and our bird again started on its journey.  But just then a hungry hawk, who had watched it for a long time, pounced upon it.  Fortunately, the fairy, who was near, seeing the bird was sufficiently punished for its folly, took compassion on it, changed it into a squirrel again, and placed it safely in its own tree.  The squirrel was ever afterward contented.

Moral.—­Every one should be contented with his lot; for every station in life has its own ills.

SCHOOL STREET SOCIETY.