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How lovely and joyful the course that h Though he rose in a mist when his race

And there followed some droppings of But now the fair traveller's come to the His rays are all gold, and his beauties ar He paints the sky gay as he sinks to his And foretells a bright rising again.

Just such is the Christian; his course he Like the sun in a mist, when he mourns And melts into tears; then he breaks ou

And travels his heavenly way:

But when he comes nearer to finish his r Like a fine setting sun, he looks richer in And gives a sure hope, at the end of his Of rising in brighter array.

Ex. 89.

WHI

- WHAT THE WINDS BRING.

Stedman.

HICH is the wind that brings the cold? The north-wind, Freddy, and all the snow; And the sheep will scamper into the fold

When the north begins to blow.

Which is the wind that brings the heat?
The south-wind, Katy; and corn will grow,
And peaches redden for you to eat,
When the south begins to blow.

Which is the wind that brings the rain?
The east-wind, Arty, and farmers know
That cows come shivering up the lane
When the east begins to blow.

Which is the wind that brings the flowers?
The west-wind, Bessy; and soft and low
The birdies sing in the summer hours
When the west begins to blow.

Ex. 90. - GOD'S LOVE TO US.

HERE 'S not a flower that decks the vale,

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There's not a beam that lights the mountain,

There's not a shrub that scents the gale,

There's not a wind that stirs the fountain,

There's not a hue that paints the rose,
There's not a leaf around us lying,
But in its use some beauty shows,

God's love to us and love undying!

When her kings, with standard of Led the Red-Branch Knights to Ere the emerald gem of the wester Was set in the crown of a strang

On Lough Neagh's bank as the fish When the clear cold eve 's decli He sees the round towers of other In the wave beneath him shining Thus shall memory often, in dream Catch a glimpse of the days tha Thus, sighing, look through the wa For the long-faded glories they

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BEHOLD the young, the ros

Gives to the breeze her sce While virgin graces, warm with Fling roses o'er her dewy way. The murmuring billows of the d Have languished into silent slee And mark! the flitting sea-birds Their plumes in the reflecting w While cranes from hoary winter To flutter in a kinder sky.

Now the genial star of day

Dissolves the murky clouds away,
And cultured field and winding stream.
Are freshly glittering in his beam.
Now the earth prolific swells
With leafy buds and flowery bells;
Gemming shoots the olive twine;
Clusters bright festoon the vine;
All along the branches creeping,
Through the velvet foliage peeping,
Little infant fruits we see
Nursing into luxury.

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HE birds gave a picnic; the morning was fine; They all came in couples to chat and to dine. Miss Robin, Miss Wren, and the two Misses Jay, Were dressed in a manner decidedly gay.

And Bluebird, who looks like a handful of sky,
Dropped in with her mate as the morning wore by.
The Yellow-birds, too, - those were bundles of sun,
With the brave Chickadees, came along to the fun.

Miss Phebe was there in her prim suit of brown;
In fact, all the birds in the fair, leafy town.
The neighbors, of course, were politely invited;
Not even the Ants nor the Crickets were slighted.

The Grasshoppers came, some in gray, some in green,
And covered with dust, hardly fit to be seen.
Miss Miller flew in, with her gown white as milk,
And Lady-Bug flourished a new crimson silk.

SELECTIONS IN POETRY.

The Bees turned out lively, the young and the old,
And proud as could be in their spencers of gold.
But Miss Caterpillar, - how funny of her!-
She hurried along in a mantle of fur.

93

There were big bugs in plenty, and gnats great and small,— hard matter to mention them all.

A very

And what did they do? Why, they sported and sang,
Till all the greenwood with their melody rang.

Who e'er gave a picnic so grand and so gay ?
They had n't a shower, I'm happy to say;
And when the sun fell, like a cherry, ripe red,
The fireflies lighted them all home to bed!

Ex. 94. - WARREN'S ADDRESS. - John Pierpont.

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TAND! the ground 's your own, my braves!
Will ye give it up to slaves?
Will ye look for greener graves?
Hope ye mercy still?

What's the mercy despots feel?
Hear it in that battle-peal!
Read it on yon bristling steel!

Ask it,

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ye who will.

Fear ye foes who kill for hire?
Will ye to your homes retire?
Look behind you!-they 're afire!
And, before you, see

'Who have done it! From the vale

On they come! — and will ye quail ?
Leaden rain and iron hail

Let their welcome be!

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