Why come they not to me?"

"My child, when through your window
Shines down the moonlight clear,--
When all is still and silent,
And no kind friend is near,--

"Are you not glad and happy,
And full of thoughts of love?
Do you not think of heaven.
That brighter land above?

"These thoughts the angels bring you;
And though the gentle tone
Of their sweet voices comes not
When you are all alone;

"Yet they are always leaving,
For earth, their homes on high;
And though you cannot see them,
You feel that they are nigh."

THE CHILDHOOD OF JESUS.

[Illustration: Letter O.]

Of the childhood of our Saviour
Tells one simple verse alone;
Yet from that his whole behavior
When he was a child, is known.

He was subject to his mother,
So the holy Scriptures say;
'Tis enough, we need no other
Record of him day by day.

Thus we, his obedience knowing,
Know how gentle and how mild,--
How in truth and goodness growing
Was our Saviour from a child.

Little children, who endeavor
Like the blessed One to be,
As you try, remember ever
How obedient was he.

If, like Jesus pure and holy,
You your parents' will obey,
You will grow more meek and lowly,
And more like him, every day.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

THE FISHERS.

[Illustration: Letter S.]

Silence! stir not! for a whisper
Would affright thy pretty prey;
Not a motion, little lisper,
Else the fish will glide away.

Hush! he's coming! he is swimming
Slowly round and round the bait;
Steady! though thine eye is brimming
Full of mirth that will not wait.

And thy brother near thee kneeling
Fears to hear thy ringing shout;
Gently! near and nearer stealing
Comes the brightly spotted trout.

There! thy hook has caught him surely;
Firmly hold thy slender rod;
Pull away! and then securely
Place him on the grassy sod.

[Illustration]

'Neath the green boughs rustling o'er you,
Fish away the livelong day;
And with evening's star before you,
Wander home at twilight gray.

[Illustration]

THE RAINBOW.

[Illustration: Letter W.]

"What is the rainbow, mother dear,
With many-colored light?
Have the clouds parted just to show
The floor of heaven so bright?

"Or is it wings of angels pure
That touch along the sky?
And do they come that we may see
How fair is all on high?

"Or, mother, on that shining arch
Do spirits rise above?
And on that bended