And keep them mine for ever!"

So, when at noon from school he came,
To see his vine was first his aim:
But oh! his feelings who can name,
As mute he stood and eyed it?
For not a flower could he behold,
While each corolla, inward rolled,
Appeared as shrivelled, dead, and old
As if a fire had dried it.

"Alas!" the selfish owner said,
"My Glories----oh! they all are dead!
And all my little friends have fled
Aggrieved! for I've abused them.
They'll keep away, and but deride
My sorrow, when they hear my pride
Is gone;--that quick the pleasures died
Which rudely I refused them!"

=The Old Cotter and his Cow=

My good old Cow,
I scarce know how
Again we've wintered over;
With my scant fare,
And thine so spare--
No dainty dish, nor clover!

We both were old,
And keen the cold;
While poorly housed we found us;
And by the blast
That, whistling, passed,
The snows were sifted round us.

While, many a day.
Few locks of hay
Were most thy crib presented,
A patient Cow,
And kind wast thou,
And with thy mite contented.

But though the storms
Have chilled our forms,
And we've been pinched together,
The dark, blue day
Is passed away;
We've reached the warm spring weather!

The bounteous earth
Is shooting forth
Her grass and flowers so gayly;
Thou now canst feed
Along the mead,
While food is growing daily.

The soft, sweet breeze
Through budding trees
Now fans my brow so hoary:
And these old eyes
Find new supplies
Of light from nature's glory.

Though poor my cot,
And low my lot,
With thee, my richest treasure,
I take my cup,
And looking up,
Bless Him who gives my measure.

=The Speckled One=

Poor speckled one! none else will deign
To waft thy name around;
So, let me take it on my strain,
To give it air and sound.

Yes--air and sound, low child of earth!
For these are oft the things
That give a name its greatest worth,
Its gorgeous plumes and wings.

But do not shun me thus, and hop
Affrighted from my way!
Dismiss thy terrors--turn and stop;
And hear what I may say.

Meek, harmless thing, afraid of man?
This truly should not be.
Then calmly pause, and let me scan
My Maker's work in thee.

For both of us to Him belong;
We're fellow-creatures here;
And power should not be armed with wrong,
Nor weakness filled with fear.

I know it is thy humble lot
To burrow in a hole--
To have a