But the penitent Harry, as fearing he might,
And eager his fault to atone,
Now thought of a method to keep it in sight,
Some may laugh at, but I am not one.
He begged dear mamma would allow him to keep
In his pocket one dear little bird,
As a daily memorial, lest prudence should sleep,
And future wrong wishes be stirred.
She kissed him, well pleased with the innocent thought,
But that this could not be, she explained;
And "tis not by sights resolution is wrought,
But by principles, inly maintained."
"And what, then, are principles ?" Harry pursued,
"For I'm sure I would gladly obey."
They are rules to be followed, which, known to be good,
We let nobody talk them away."
-MRS G. G. RICHARDSON.
ETERNAL WISDOM! thee we praise,
Thee the creation sings;
With thy loud name rocks, hills, and seas,
And heaven's high palace rings.
Thy hand, how wide it spreads the sky,
How glorious to behold!
Tinged with a blue of heavenly dye,
And starred with sparkling gold.
There thou hast bid the globes of light
Their endless circles run:
There, the pale planet rules the night;
The day obeys the sun.
If down I turn my wond'ring eyes
On clouds and storms below,
Those under-regions of the skies
Thy num'rous glories show.
The noisy winds stand ready there
Thy orders to obey;
With sounding wings they sweep the air,
To make thy chariot way.
There, like a trumpet loud and strong,
Thy thunder shakes our coast;
While the red lightnings wave along,
The banners of thy host.
On the thin air, without a prop,
Hang fruitful showers around;
At thy command they sink, and drop.
Their fatness on the ground.
Thy wondrous power and skill arrays
The earth in cheerful green;
A thousand herbs thy art displays,
A thousand flowers between.
The rolling mountains of the deep
Obey thy strong command:
Thy breath can raise the billows steep,
Or sink them to the sand.
Thy glories blaze all nature round,
And strike the gazing sight,
Through skies, and seas, and solid ground,
With terror and delight.
Infinite strength and equal skill
Shine through thy works abroad,
Our souls with vast amazement fill,
And speak the builder God.
But the mild glories of thy grace
Our softer passions move;
Pity divine in Jesus' face
We see, adore, and love!
A SCOTTISH WINTER.
No longer autumn's glowing red
Upon your forest hills is shed;
No more beneath the evening beam
Fair Tweed reflects their purple gleam:
Away hath passed the heather-bell
That bloomed so rich on Needpath fell;
Sallow his brow, and russet bare,
Are now the sister heights of Yair.
The sheep before the pinching heaven,
To sheltered dale and down are driven,
Where yet some faded herbage pines,
And yet a watery sunbeam shines.
In meek despondency they eye
The withered sward and wintry sky.
The shepherd shifts his mantle fold,
And wraps him closer from the cold;
His dogs no merry circles wheel,
But, shivering, follow at his heel;
A cowering glance they often cast,
As deeper moans the gathering blast.
My imps, though hardy, bold, and wild,
As best befits the mountain child,
Feel the sad influence of the hour,
And wail the daisy's vanished flower;
Their summer gambols tell, and mourn,
And anxious ask-Will spring return,
And birds and lambs again be gay,
And blossoms clothe the hawthorn spray?
Yes, prattlers, yes. The daisy's flower
Again shall paint your summer bower;
Again the hawthorn shall supply
The garlands you delight to tie;
The lambs upon the lea shall bound,
The wild birds carol to the round,
And while you frolic light as they,
Too short shall seem the summer day.
THE ANT-INDUSTRY.
THESE emmets, how little they are in our eyes! We tread them to dust, and a troop of them dies, Without our regard or concern:
Yet as wise as we are, if we went to their school, There's many a sluggard and many a fool
Some lessons of wisdom might learn.
They wear not their time out in sleeping or play, But gather up corn on a sunshiny day,
And for winter they lay up their stores;
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