1 In yonder brake there is a nest;
But come not, George, too nigh,
Lest the poor mother, frightened thence,
Should leave her young, and fly!

2 Think with what pain, for many a day,
Soft moss and straw she brought;
And let our own dear mother's care
Be present to our thought.

3 And think how must her heart deplore,
And droop with grief and pain,
If those she reared, and nursed, and loved,
She ne'er should see again.

* * * * *

THE MOWER.

1 Hark to the mower's whistling blade!
How steadily he mows!
The grass is heaped, the daisies fade,
All scattered as he goes.

2 The flowers of life may bloom and fade,
But He in whom I trust,
Though cold and in my grave-clothes laid,
Can raise me from the dust.

* * * * *

SATURDAY NIGHT.

1 Come, let us, ere we go to bed,
O'er the decaying embers chat,
Though little Mary hangs her head,
And strokes no more the purring cat.

2 And let us tell how prisoners pine
In silent dungeons dark and drear;
Whilst on each face the embers shine,
And all is calm and peaceful here.

3 The English cot is free from cares;
But, see, the brand is wasted quite;
Come, little Mary, say your prayers;
Kiss, mother, kiss! good night, good night!

* * * * *

SUNDAY NIGHT.

1 Let us unfold God's holy book,
And by the taper's light,
With hearts subdued, and sober look,
So spend the Sabbath night.

2 Where now the thoughts of anxious life,
Its guilty pleasures, where?
Here dies its loud and mourning strife,
And all its sounds of care.

3 Let other views our hearts engross,
To our Redeemer true,
Who seems expiring on the cross,
To say, I died for you!

* * * * *

THE APRIL SHOWER.

1 When rain-drops, glistening from the thatch,
Like drops of silver run,
Our old blind grandame lifts the latch,
To feel the cheering sun.

2 She sees no rainbow in the sky,
But when the cuckoo sung,
She thought upon the years gone by,
When she was blithe and young.

3 But God, who comforts want and age,
Shall be her only friend,
And bless her till her pilgrimage