But THOU, too, made that floweret gay
To glitter in the dawn;

The hand that fired the lamp of day,
The blazing comet launched away,
Painted the velvet lawn.

"As falls a sparrow to the ground,
Obedient to thy will,"

By the same law these globes wheel round,
Each drawing each, yet all still found,
In one eternal system bound,
ONE ORDER TO FULFIL.

CREATION.

[Earrest and bold.]

Who made the sun that gives his light
To all the world abroad?

Who made the moon and stars so bright?
TWAS THE CREATOR-GOD.

Who made this wondrous globe, the earth,
Where we have our abode ?
And gave so many creatures birth?
"TWAS THE CREATOR-GOD.

Who raised the gloomy clouds so high,
Which o'er our heads explode?
Who cloth'd in blue the vaulted sky?
"TWAS THE CREATOR-GOD.

Who spoke the word at which the streams
Into an ocean flow'd ?

Who gave the life with which it teems?

"TWAS THE CREATOR-GOD.

Who form'd the brutes of varied kind,
By which the ground is trod ?
And birds that fly before the wind?
"TWAS THE CREATOR-GOD.

Who gaily dress'd the pretty flowers,
And verdant made the sod?

Who raised the trees like stately towers!
"TWAS THE CREATOR-GOD.

90

HAPPINESS.

THE GREEN PASTURES

BY MRS. DUNCAN.

[Earnest and cheerful.]

I walked in a field of fresh clover this morn,

Where lambs play'd so merrily under the trees,
Or rubbed their soft coats on a naked old thorn,
Or nibbled the clover, or rested at ease.
And under the hedge ran a clear water-brook,

To drink from, when thirsty, or weary with play;
And so gay did the daisies and buttercups look,

That I thought little lambs MUST BE HAPPY ALL DAY.

And when I remember the beautiful psalm,

That tells about Christ and his pastures so green;
I know he is willing to make me his lamb,

And HAPPIER FAR THAN THE LAMBS I HAVE SEEN.
If I drink of the waters, so peaceful and still,
That flow in his field, I FOR EVER SHALL LIVE;
If I love him and seek his commands to fulfil,

A place in his sheep-fold to me HE WILL GIVE.
The lambs are at peace in the fields when they play,
The long summer's day in contentment they spend ;
BUT HAPPIER I, if in God's holy way

I TRY TO WALK ALWAYS WITH CHRIST FOR MY FRIEND.

THE OLD CHAPEL BELL.
BY H. SAXE.

Within a churchyard's sacred ground,
Whose fading tablets tell

Where they who built the village church
In solemn silence dwell,

Half hidden in the earth, there lies

An ancient Chapel Bell.

Broken, decayed, and covered o'er
With mouldering leaves and rust;
Its very name and date concealed
Beneath a cankering crust;
FORGOTTEN like its early friends,
Who sleep in neighbouring dust.
Yet it was once a trusty Bell,
Of most sonorous lung,
And many a joyous wedding-peal
And many a knell had rung,

Ere Time had cracked its brazen sides,
And broke its iron tongue.

And many a youthful heart had danced
In merry Christmas-time,

To hear its pleasant roundelay,

Sung out in merry rhyme;

And many a worldly thought been checked
To list its Sabbath chime.

A youth-a bright and happy boy-
One sultry summer's day,
Aweary of his bat and ball,

Chanced hitherward to stray,
To read a little book he had,
And rest him from his play,

"A soft and shady spot is this!'
The rosy youngster cried,
And sat him down, beneath a tree,
That ancient Bell beside;
(But hidden in the tangled grass,
The Bell he ne'er espied).

Anon, a mist fell on his book,

The letters seemed to stir,

And though, full oft, his flagging sight
The boy essayed to spur,

The mazy page was quickly lost
Beneath a cloudy blur.

And while he marvelled much at this,

And wondered how it came,

He felt a languor creeping o'er
His young and weary frame,
And heard a voice, a gentle voice,
That plainly spoke his name.

That gentle voice that named his name
Entranced him like a spell,

Upon his ear so very near

And suddenly it fell,

Yet soft and musical, as 'twere
The whisper of a bell.

"Since last I spoke," the voice began,
"Seems many a dreary year!
(Albeit 'tis only since thy birth
I've lain neglected here!)
Pray list, while I rehearse a tale

Behoves thee much to hear.

"Once, from yon ivied tower, I watched
The villages around,

And gave to all their joys and griefs
A sympathetic sound-

But most are sleeping, now, within
This consecrated ground.

"I used to ring my merriest peal
To hail the blushing bride;
I sadly tolled for men cut down
In strength and manly pride;
And solemnly-not mournfully,—
When little children died.

"But, chief, my duty was to bid
The villagers repair,

On each returning Sabbath morn,
Unto the House of Prayer,
And in His own appointed place
The Saviour's mercy share.

"Ah! well I mind me of a child,

A gleesome, happy maid,

Who came, with constant step, to church,

In comely garb arrayed,

And knelt her down full solemnly,

And penitently prayed.

"And oft, when church was done, I marked

That little maiden near

This pleasant spot, with book in hand,

As you are sitting here—

She read the story of the Cross,

And wept with grief sincere.
"Years rolled away-and I beheld
The child to woman grown;
Her cheek was fairer, and her eye
With brighter lustre shone ;
But childhood's truth and innocence
Were still the maiden's own.

"I never rang a merrier peal
Than when a joyous bride,

She stood beneath the sacred porch,
A noble youth beside,

And plighted him her maiden troth,
In maiden love and pride.

"I never tolled a deeper knell
Than when, in after years,

They laid her in the churchyard here,
Where this low mound appears—
(The very grave, my boy, that you,
Are watering now with tears !)

"It is thy mother, gentle boy,

That claims this tale of mine-
Thou art a flower whose fatal birth
Destroyed the parent vine!

A precious flower art thou, my child-
TWO LIVES WERE GIVEN FOR THINE!
"One was thy sainted mother's, when
She gave thee mortal birth;
And one thy Saviour's when in death
He shook the solid earth;

GO! BOY, AND LIVE, AS MAY BEFIT
THY LIFE'S EXCEEDING WORTH!"

The boy awoke, as from a dream,
And, thoughtful, looked around,
But nothing saw, save at his feet
His mother's lowly mound,
And by his side that ancient Bell,
Half hidden in the ground!

CHRISTMAS

BY WASHINGTON IRVING.

[Earnest and cheerfully.]

There is something in the very season of the year that gives a charm to the festivity of Christmas. At other times we

derive a great portion of our pleasures from the mere beauties of nature. Our feelings sally forth and dissipate themselves over the sunny landscape, and we "live abroad and everywhere.' The song of the bird, the murmur of the stream, the breathing fragrance of spring, the soft voluptuousness of summer, the golden pomp of autumn-earth with its mantle of refreshing green, and heaven with its deep delicious blue and its cloudy magnificence