BEHOLD! a little baby boy,
A happy babe is he:
His face how bright,
His heart how light,

His throne his mother's knee.

Now in her face with laughing eye
I see him gaily peep,

And now at rest

Upon her breast,

He gently sinks to sleep.

His lips are red, his teeth like pearls,
The rogue! he has but two;
His golden hair,

How soft and fair,

His eyes, how bright and blue!

His tiny hands are white and plump, And waking, or asleep,

Beneath his clothes,

His little toes,

How cunningly they peep!

Oh! many things are beautiful;
The bird that sings and flies,-
The setting sun,

When day is done,

The rainbow in the skies.

My own pet lamb is innocent,

And full of play is he;

The violet

With dew-drops wet

Is sweet and fair to me.

But there is one more beautiful,

Gay, tender, sweet, and mild,`
A baby boy

With heart of joy,

A loved and loving child.

LITTLE RAIN-DROPS.

OH! where do you come from,
You little drops of rain,
Pitter patter, pitter patter,
Down the window-pane?

They won't let me walk,

And they won't let me play,

And they won't let me go

Out of doors at all to-day.

They put away my playthings
Because I broke them all,

And then they lock'd up all my bricks
And took away my ball.

Tell me, little rain-drops,
Is that the way you play,
Pitter patter, pitter patter,
All the rainy day?

They say I'm very naughty,
But I've nothing else to do
But sit here at the window;
;

I should like to play with you.

The little rain-drops cannot speak, But "pitter patter pat

Means, "We can play on this side, Why can't you play on that?"

OH LOOK AT THE MOON!

OH! look at the moon,
She is shining up there;
Oh! mother, she looks
Like a lamp in the air.
Last week she was smaller,
And shaped like a bow;
But now she's grown bigger,
And round as an O.

Pretty moon, pretty moon,
How you shine on the door,
And make it all bright
On my nursery floor!

You shine on my playthings,
And show me their place,

And I love to look up

At your pretty bright face.

And there is a star

Close by you, and may be
That small twinkling star
Is your little baby.

COME HERE, LITTLE ROBIN.

COME here, little Robin, and don't be afraid,
I would not hurt even a feather;

Come here, little Robin, and pick up some bread,
To feed you this very cold weather.

I don't mean to hurt you, you poor little thing, And pussy-cat is not behind me ;

So hop about pretty, and put down your wing,
And pick up the crumbs, and don't mind me!

Cold Winter is come, but it will not last long,
And Summer we soon shall be greeting;
Then remember, sweet Robin, to sing me a song,
In return for the breakfast you're eating!

ANNIE'S GARDEN.

IN little Annie's garden
Grew all sorts of posies;

There were pinks, and mignonette,
And tulips, and roses.

Sweet peas,

and morning glories,

A bed of violets blue,

And marigolds, and asters,

In Annie's garden grew.