IF I WERE A SUNBEAM.

ee

If I were a sunbeam,

I know what I'd do :
I would seek white lilies

Rainy woodlands through :
I would steal among them,
Softest light I'd shed,
Until every lily

Raised its drooping head.

"If I were a sunbeam,
I know where I'd go:
Into lowliest hovels,

Dark with want and woe:
Till sad hearts looked upward,
I would shine and shine;
Then they'd think of heaven,
Their sweet home and mine."

Art thou not a sunbeam,

Child whose life is glad

With an inner radiance

Sunshine never had?
Oh, as God has blessed thee,

Scatter rays divine!

For there is no sunbeam

But must die, or shine.

MEADOW TALK.

A bumble bee, yellow as gold
Sat perched on a red-clover top,
When a grasshopper, wiry and old,
Came along with a skip and a hop.
"Good morrow" cried he, "Mr. Bumble Bee,
You seem to have come to stop."

"We people that work," said the bee with a jerk,

ee

'Find a benefit sometimes in stopping,

Only insects like you, who have nothing to do
Can keep perpetually hopping."
The grasshopper paused on his way

And thoughtfully hunched up his knees: "Why trouble this sunshiny day,”

Quoth he, "with reflections like these? I follow the trade for which I was made We all can't be wise bumble-bees; There's a time to be sad and a time to be glad, A time for both working and stopping, For men to make money, for you to make honey,

And for me to keep constantly hopping." Caroline Leslie.

THE OLD LOVE.

I once had a sweet little doll, dears,
The prettiest doll in the world;

Her cheeks were so red and so white, dears,
And her hair was so charmingly curled:
But I lost my poor little doll, dears,

As I played on the heath one day,

And I cried for her more than a week, dears, And I never could find where she lay.

I found my poor little doll, dears,

As I played on the heath one day; Folks say she is terribly changed, dears, For her paint is all washed away ; And her arms trodden off by the cows, dears, And her hair not the least bit curled: Yet for old time's sake, she is still to me The prettiest doll in the world.

-Charles Kingsley.

BED IN SUMMER.

In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle-light.
In summer, quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.

I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree,

Or hear the grown-up people's feet
Still going past me in the street.

And does it not seem hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue,
And I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?

THREE COMPANIONS.

We go on our walk together-
Baby and dog and I—
Three little merry companions,
'Neath any sort of sky :
Blue as our baby's eyes are,
Gray like our old dog's tail;

Be it windy or cloudy or stormy,
Our courage will never fail.

Baby's a little lady;

Dog is a gentleman brave;
If he had two legs as you have,

He'd kneel to her like a slave;
As it is, he loves and protects her,
As dog and gentleman can.
I'd rather be a kind doggie,
I think, than a cruel man.

--Dinah Mulock-Craik.

THE WIND.

I saw you toss the kites on high,
And blow the birds about the sky;
And all around I heard you pass
Like ladies' skirts across the grass
O wind, a-blowing all day long,
O wind, that sings so loud a song

I saw the different things you did,
But always you yourself you hid.
I felt you push, I heard you call,
I could not see yourself at all—
O wind, a-blowing all day long,
O wind, that sings so loud a song!

O you, that are so strong and cold,
O blower, are you young or old?
Are you a beast of field and tree,
Or just a stronger child than me?
O wind, a-blowing all day long,
O wind, that sings so loud a song!

-Robert Louis Stevenson.

Hearts like doors can open with ease
To very, very little keys;

And ne'er forget that they are these:
"I thank you, sir," and "If you please."

-Sel.