The seed that finds a stony soil The thorny ground is sure to haulk The beaten path and highway side And pick up all the grain. But where the Lord of grace and power Has bless'd the happy field; How plenteous is the golden store The deep-wrought furrows yield! Father of Mercies, we have need Of thy preparing grace ; Let the same hand that gives the seed, THE GLEANER. BEFORE the bright sun rises over the hill, With the few scatter'd ears she can glean. F She never leaves off, or runs out of her place, Except now and then she will wipe her hot face; "Poor girl, hard at work in the heat of the sun, How tired and hot you must be ! Why don't you leave off, as the others have done, And sit with them under the tree?" "Oh, no! for my mother lies ill in her bed, Too feeble to spin or to knit : And my poor little brothers are crying for bread, And yet we can't give them a bit. "Then could I be merry, and idle, and play, Oh, no! I had rather work hard all the day, THE GOOD SHEPHERD. THE Lord my pasture shall prepare, When in the sultry glebe Ffaint, Though in the paths of death I tread, Tho' in a bare and rugged way, THE APPLE TREE, OLD John had an apple-tree healthy and green, Which bore the best codlings that ever were seen, So juicy, so mellow, and red; And when they were ripe, as old Johnny was poor, He sold them to children that pass'd by his door, To buy him a morsel of bread. ittle Di ck, his next neighbour, one often might see With longing eye viewing this nice apple-tree, And wishing a codling might fall: One day as he stood in the heat of the sun, He began thinking whether he might not take one, And then he look'd over the wall. And as he again cast his eye on the tree, He said to himself," O how nice they would be, The tree is so full, and I'd only take one, But stop, little boy, take your hand from the bough, There is one, who by night, just as well as by day, Can see all you do, and hear all you say, From his glorious throne in the sky. Oh then, little boy, come away from the tree, Or any thing rather than steal; For the great God, who even in darkness can look, Writes down ev'ry crime we commit, in his book, However we think to conceal. GOD EVERY WHERE. God made the world—in ev'ry land, The Indian hut and Irish cot He sees and governs distant lands, In forest shades and silent plains, All the inhabitants of earth, Who dwell beneath the sun, Alike the rich and poor are known, The lofty monarch on the throne, |