Oh, Anna, this will never do,

This work is sadly done, my dear;

And then so little of it, too—

You have not taken pains, I fear.

Oh, no, your work has been forgotten; Indeed, you hardly thought of that: I saw you roll your spool of cotton

About the floor, to please the cat.

See, here are stitches straggling wide, And others stretching down so far, I'm very sure you have not tried

In this, at least, to please mamma. The little girl who will not sew,

Must neither be allowed to play; And now I hope, my love, that you Will take more pains another day.

MY FATHER BLESSED ME

My father raised his trembling hand,
And laid it on my head;
"God bless thee, O my son, my son!"
Most tenderly he said.

He died, and left no gems of gold:
But still I was his heir;

For that rich blessing which he gave
Became a fortune rare.

Still, in my weary hours of toil
To earn my daily bread,
It gladdens me in thought to feel
His hand upon my head.

Though infant tongues to me have said,

"Dear father," oft since then,

Yet when I bring that scene to mind, I'm but a child again.

THE ARK AND DOVE.
There was a noble ark,
Sailing o'er waters dark
And wide around;

Not one tall tree was seen,
Nor flower, nor leaf of green-
All, all was drowned.

Then a soft wing was spread,
And o'er the billows dread
A meek dove flew ;
But on that shoreless tide,
No living thing she spied
To cheer her view.

So to the ark she fled,
With weary, drooping head,
To seek for rest:

Christ is thy ark, my love,
Thou art the tender dove;

Fly to his breast.

Mrs. Sigourney.

WHAT I HATE.

I hate to see a little girl

That does not love to rise,

And have the water, fresh and sweet, Cover her face and eyes.

I hate to see her pretty dress
So careless look and tossed,
Her toys all scattered here and there,
Her thread and needle lost.

I hate to see her, at her play,
When little girls have met
To frolic, laugh, and run about,
Grow peevish, cry, and fret.

I hate to hear her tell a lie-
What's not her own to take;
Mamma's commands to disobey,
And father's rules to break.

And now I've told you what I hate,
I'll only stop to say,
Perhaps I'll tell you what I love
Upon some other day.

WHAT I LOVE.

I love to see a little girl

Rise with the lark so bright;

Bathe, comb, and dress with cheerful face,

Then thank the God of light.

And when she comes to meet mamma,

So fresh and neat and clean,

And asks a kiss from dear papa

With such a modest mien,

Songs

That all who see her gentle look
And pretty actions too,

Will feel that she's a darling child-
Kind, honest, loving, true.

These are the things I so much like;
And now, who'll try to be

The meek and modest little girl
Which you before you see?

ROBIN REDBREAST'S SECRET.

I'm little Robin Redbreast, sir,

My nest is in the tree;

If you look up in yonder elm,

My pleasant home you'll see.
We made it very soft and nice—
My pretty mate and I— ́

And all the time we worked at it,
We sang most merrily.

The green leaves shade our lovely home

From the hot scorching sun;

So many birds live in the tree,

We do not want for fun..

The light breeze gently rocks our nest,
And hushes us to sleep;

We're up betimes to sing our song,
And the first daylight greet.

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