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THE CHILD AND THE DEW-DROPS.

"O father, dear father, why pass they away, Then are we not taught by each beautiful The dew-drops that sparkled at dawning of ray, day

To mourn not for beauty, though fleeting That glittered like stars by the light of the away? moon;

For though youth of its brightness and Oh, why are those dew-drops dissolving so beauty be riven, soon?

All that withers on earth blooms more Does the sun, in his wrath, chase their brightly in heaven."

brightness away, As though nothing that's lovely might live

Alas for the father ! how little knew he for a day?

The words he had spoken prophetic could The moonlight has faded, the flowers still

be; remain,

That the beautiful child, the bright star But the dew has dried out of their petals

of his day, again."

Was e'en then like the dew-drops- dis

solving away “My child," said the father, "look up to Oh, sad was the father, when, lo! in the the skies,

skies Behold yon bright rainbow, those beautiful The rainbow again spread its beauteous dyes;

dyes; There, there are the dew-drops in glory And then he remembered the maxims he'd reset,

given, 'Mid the jewels of heaven they are glittering And thought of his child and the dewyet!

drops-in heaven.

J. E. CARPENTER,

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ELLEN MORE.

“SWEET Ellen More," said I, come forth With dismal thoughts of storm and wreck Beneath the sunny sky;

Upon some savage coast; Why stand you musing all alone,

But morn and eve we prayed to Heaven With such an anxious eye?

That he might not be lost.
What is it, child, that aileth you?"
And thus she made reply :-

And when the pleasant spring came on,

And fields again were green, The fields are green, the skies are bright, He sent a letter full of news The leaves are on the tree,

of the wonders he had seen; And ʼmong the sweet flowers of the thyme Praying us to think him dutiful, Far flies the honey-bee;

As he afore had been. And the lark hath sung since morning prime,

The tidings that came next were from And merrily singeth he:

A sailor old and gray,

Who saw his ship at anchor lie Yet not for this shall I go forth

In the harbour at Bombay; On the open hills to play;

But he said my brother pined for home, There's not a bird that singeth now

And wished he were away.
Would tempt me hence to stray;
I would not leave our cottage door

Again he wrote a letter long,
For a thousand flowers to-day!”

Without a word of gloom;

And soon, and very soon, he said, And why?” said I; what is there He should again come home: here,

I watched, as now, beside the door,
Beside your cottage door,

And yet he did not come.
To make a merry girl like you
Thus idly stand to pore?

I watched and watched, but I knew not theu There is a mystery in this thing

It would be all in vain; Now tell me, Ellen More !”

For very sick he lay the while,

In a hospital in Spain. The fair girl looked into my face

Ah, me! I fear my brother dear
With her dark and serious eye;

Will not come home again.
Silently a while she looked,
Then heaved a quiet sigh;

And now I watch, for we have heard
And, with a half-reluctant will,

That he is on his way; Again she made reply :-

And the letter said, in very truth,

He would be here to-day. Three years ago, unknown to us,

Oh ! there's no bird that singeth now
When nuts were on the tree,

Could tempt me hence away !”-
Even in the pleasant harvest-time,
My brother went to sea-

That self-same eve I wandered down
Unknown to us to sea he went,

Unto the busy strand, And a woful house were we.

Just as a little boat came in

With people to the land; That winter was a weary time,

And ’mongst them was a sailor boy,
A long dark time of woe;

Who leaped upon the sand.
For we knew not in what ship he sailed,
And vainly sought to know;

I knew him by his dark-blue eyes,
And day and night the loud, wild winds, And by his features fair;
Seemed evermore to blow,

And as he leaped ashore, he sang

A simple Scottish airMy mother lay upon her bed,

There's nae place like our ain dear hame Her spirit sorely tossed

To be met wi' onywhere!”

MARY HOWITT.

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VOYAGER upon life's sea, to yourself be But, if these will not suflice, golden gain true,

pursue; And where'er your lot may be, Paddle And to gain the glittering prize, “ Paddle your own canoe!

your own canoe !" Never, though the winds may rave, falter nor look back;

Would you wrest the wreath of fame from But upon the darkest wave leave a shining

the hand of fate? track,

Would you write a deathless name with

the good and great? Nobly dare the wildest storin, stem the Would you bless your fellow-men? Heart hardest gale;

and soul imbue Brave of heart and strong of arm, you will With the holy task, and then Paddle never fail.

your own canoe !When the world is cold and dark, keep an aim in view;

Would you crush the tyrant wrong, in the And toward the beacon-mark Paddle

world's free fight? your own canoe!

With a spirit brave and strong, battle for

the right: Every wave that bears you on to the silent And to break the chains that bind the shore,

many to the few From its sunny source has gone, to return To enfranchise slavish mind—“ Paddle no more:

your own canoe!" Then let not an hour's delay cheat you of

your due; But, while it is called to-day, “Paddle Nothing great is lightly won, nothing won

is lost; your own canoe!

Every good deed, nobly done, will repay

the cost : If your birth denied you wealth, lofty Leave to Heaven, in humble trust, all you state and power,

will to do; Honest fame and hardy health are a better But, if you succeed, you must "PADDLE dower:

YOUR OWN CANOE!”

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