Who taught my infant heart to pray,
And love God's holy book and day,
And taught me wisdom's pleasant way ?

And can I ever cease to be
Affectionate and kind to thee,
Who wast so very kind to me?

My Mother.

My Mother.

Ah! no, the thought I cannot bear;
And if God please my life to spare,
I hope I shall reward thy care,

My Mother.

When thou art feeble, old, and grey.
My healthful arm shall be thy stay,
And I will soothe thy pain away,

My Mother.

For God who lives above the skies,
Would look with vengeance in his eyes,
If I should ever dare despise,

My Mother.

JANE TAYLOR.

SAMUEL.

WHEN Samuel heard in still midnight,
A voice amid God's presence bright;
He rose and said on bended knee,
"Speak, Lord! thy servant heareth thee."

Even such a voice I too may hear ;
Even such a light my soul may cheer;
For Scripture words by God are given,
And conscience is a ray from Heaven.

All that I learn can tell of God;
The bible best; 'tis God's own word;
But men and books, each star and flower,
Can tell me of him more and more.

Within, without, above, around,
I'll listen for the holy sound;
And still my ardent prayer shall be,
"Speak; for thy servant heareth thee."

MISS MARTINEAU.

STARS.

STARS, that on your wondrous way Travel through the evening sky,

Is there nothing you can say
To such a little child as I?
Tell me, for I long to know,
Who has made you sparkle so?

Yes, methinks I hear you say,

"Child of mortal race attend: While we run our wondrous way,

Listen, we would be your friend; Teaching you that Name Divine, By whose mighty word we shine.

"Child, as truly as we roll

Through the dark and distant sky, You have an immortal soul,

Born to live when we shall die;

Suns and planets pass away:
Spirits never can decay.

"When some thousand years at most,
All their little time have spent,
One by one our sparkling host,

Shall forsake the firmament; We shall from our glory fall: You must live beyond us all.

"Yes, and God who bade us roll,
God, who hung us in the sky,
Stoops to watch an infant's soul,
With a condescending eye;
And esteems it dearer far,
More in value than a star.

"Oh! then, while your breath is given,
Let it rise in fervent prayer;
And beseech the God of Heaven,
To receive your spirit there,
Like a living star to blaze
Ever to your Saviour's praise."

JANE TAYLOR.

HARVEST-FIELD FLOWERS.

COME down into the harvest fields
This Autumn morn with me;
For in the pleasant autumn fields

There's much to hear and see.
On yellow slopes of waving corn

The autumn sun shines clearly; And 'tis joy to walk, on days like this, Among the bearded barley.

Within the sunny harvest fields
We'll gather flowers enow;
The poppy red and the marigold,

And the bugles brightly blue;
We'll gather the white convolvulus,

That opes in the morning early; With a cluster of nuts, an ear of wheat, And an ear of the bearded barley.

Bright over the golden fields of corn
Doth shine the autumn sky;
So let's be merry while we may,
For time goes hurrying by.

E