[Illustration]

  How fleet is a glance of the mind! 
    Compared with the speed of its flight,
  The tempest itself lags behind,
    And the swift-winged arrows of light. 
  When I think of my own native land,
    In a moment I seem to be there;
  But, alas! recollection, at hand,
    Soon hurries me back to despair.

  But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest. 
    The beast is laid down in his lair,
  Even here is a season of rest,
    And I to my cabin repair. 
  There is mercy in every place;
    And mercy, encouraging thought! 
  Gives even affliction a grace,
    And reconciles man to his lot.

[Illustration]

DON’T KILL THE BIRDS.

[Illustration:  D]

  Don’t kill the birds!—­the little birds,
    That sing about your door,
  soon as the joyous spring has come,
    And chilling storms are o’er.

  The little birds!—­how sweet they sing! 
    O! let them joyous live;
  And do not seek to take their life,
    Which you can never give.

  Don’t kill the birds!—­the pretty birds
    That play among the trees! 
  ’T would make the earth a cheerless place,
    Should we dispense with these.

  The little birds! how fond they play! 
    Do not disturb their sport;
  But let them warble forth their songs,
    Till winter cuts them short.

[Illustration]

  Don’t kill the birds!—­the happy birds
    That bless the field and grove: 
  Such harmless things to look upon,
    They claim our warmest love.

[Illustration]

QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS.

[Illustration:  W]

  Who showed the little ant the way
    Her narrow hole to bore,
  And spend the pleasant summer day
    In laying up her store?

  The sparrow builds her pretty nest
    Of wool, and hay, and moss;
  Who told her how to build it best,
    And lay the twigs across?

  Who taught the busy bee to fly
    Among the sweetest flowers,
  And lay his store of honey by,
    To eat in winter hours?

  ’Twas God who showed them all the way,
    And gave them all their skill;
  He teaches children, if they pray,
    To do his holy will.

[Illustration]

WINTER SPORT.

[Illustration:  D]

  Down, down the hill how swift I go! 
  Over the ice, and over the snow;
  A horse or cart I do not fear. 
  For past them both my sled I steer.

[Illustration]

  Hurra! my boy!  I’m going down,
  While you toil up; but never frown;
  The far hill-top you soon will gain,
  And then, with all your might and main,

  You’ll dash by me; while, full of glee,
  I’ll up again to dash by thee! 
  So on we glide—­O, life of joy;
  What pleasure has the glad school-boy!