AGAINST IDLENESS.

How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey all the day
From ev'ry op'ning flower!

How skilfully she builds her cell! How neat she spreads the wax ! And labours hard to store it well

With the sweet food she makes.

In works of labour, or of skill,
I would be busy too;

For Satan finds some mischief still

For idle hands to do.

In books, or work, or healthful play,

Let my first years be past;

That I may give for ev'ry day

Some good account at last.

WATTS.

A CRADLE HYMN.

Hush, my dear! lie still and slumber,
Holy angels guard thy bed!
Heavenly blessings without number
Gently falling on thy head.

Sleep, my babe! thy food and raiment, House and home thy friends provide ;

And without thy care or payment,
All thy wants are well supplied.

How much better thou'rt attended
Than the Son of God could be,
When from heaven he descended,
And became a child like thee!

Soft and easy is thy cradle;

Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay, When his birth-place was a stable, And his softest bed was hay.

"Twas to save thee, child, from dying, Save my dear from burning flame, Bitter groans and endless crying,

That thy blest Redeemer came.

May'st thou live to know and fear him,
Trust and love him all thy days;
Then go dwell for ever near him,

See his face and sing his praise.

WATTS.

THE LITTLE GIRL TO HER PET LAMB.

My own Pet Lamb! I long to be
From envy, pride, and malice free;
Patient and mild, and meek like thee,
My own Pet Lamb!

I long to know my Shepherd's voice,
To make His pleasant ways my choice,

And in the fold like thee rejoice,

My own Pet Lamb!

For me His tender care has spread

The word's pure milk, the living bread,

And there like thee I would be fed,

My own Pet Lamb!

And if my Shepherd bid me die,
I would not strive, I would not cry,
But calm, like thee, before him lie,

My own Pet Lamb!