She had a rustic woodland air,
And she was wildly clad :
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
Her beauty made me glad.
"Sisters and brothers, little maid,
How many may you be?"
"How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me.
"And where are they? I pray you tell?"
She answered, "Seven are we!
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.
"Two of us in the church-yard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And, in the church-yard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother."
"You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,
Yet ye are seven!-I pray you tell,
Sweet maid, how this may be !"
Then did the little maid reply,
"Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the church-yard lie,
Beneath the church-yard tree."
"You run about, my little maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the church-yard laid,
Then ye are only five."
"Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little maid replied,
"Twelve steps or more from mother's door, And they are side by side.
"My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground I sit,
I sit and sing to them.
"And often after sunset, sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.
"The first that died was sister Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her from her pain;
And then she went away.
"So in the church-yard she was laid;
And, when the grass was dry,
Together round the grave we played,
My brother John and I.
"And when the ground was white with snow,
And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go,
And he lies by her side."
"How many are you then," said I,
"If they two are in heaven?"
Quick was the little maid's reply,
"O Master! we are seven !"
"But they are dead; those two are dead,
Their spirits are in heaven!"
'Twas throwing words away; for still
The little maid would have her will,
And said "Nay we are seven !"
ON THE APPROACHING SPRING.-C. M.
In winter, where can be the flowers,
And leaves that look so green?
There's not a bud in all the bowers,
Or daisy to be seen!
And who will bring them back again,
When pleasant spring comes out?
And plant them up and down the lane,
And spread them all about?
And who will send the little lambs,
With wool as soft as silk,
And teach them all to know their dams,
And where to find the milk?
And who will tell the pretty bird
To build its nest on high,
And, though it cannot speak a word,
To teach its young to fly?
The Lord in heaven,-there He dwells,
Who all these things can do!
How good He is !-the Bible tells
Much more about Him too.
I often say my prayers,
But do I ever pray?
Or do the wishes of my heart
Dictate the words I say?
'Tis useless to implore,
Unless I feel I need;
Unless 'tis from the sense of want,
That all my prayers proceed.
I may as well kneel down
And worship gods of stone,
As offer to the living God
A prayer of words alone.
Lord, teach me what I want,—
And teach me how to pray,-
Nor let me e'er implore Thy grace
Not feeling what I say.
GOD'S GOODNESS IN CREATION.
I sing the almighty power of God,
That made the mountains rise,
That spread the flowing seas abroad,
And built the lofty skies.
I sing the wisdom that ordained
The sun to rule the day;
The moon shines fair at His command,
And all the stars obey.
I sing the goodness of the Lord
That filled the earth with food;
He formed the creatures with His word,
And then pronounced them good.
Lord, how Thy wonders are displayed!
Where'er I turn mine eyes,
If I survey the ground I tread,
Or gaze upon the skies.
There's not a plant or flower below,
But makes Thy glories known;
And clouds arise, and tempests blow,
By order from Thy throne.
Creatures of high or low degree
Are subject to Thy care;
There's not a place where we can flee,
But God is present there.
His hand is my perpetual guard,
He keeps me with His eye;
Let me, then, ne'er forget the Lord,
Who is for ever nigh.
THANKS FOR GOD'S MERCIES.-C. M.
I thank the goodness and the grace
Which on my birth have smiled;
That in this land I pass my days,
A happy English child.
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