PUSSY CAT lives in the servants' hall,
She can set up her back and purr ;
The little mice live in a crack in the wall,
But they hardly dare venture to stir;
For whenever they think of taking the air,
Or filling their little maws,
The Pussy Cat says, "Come out if you dare ;
I will catch you ail with my claws."
Scrabble, scrabble, scrabble, went all the little mice,
For they smelt the Cheshire cheese;
The Pussy Cat said, "It smells very nice,
Now do come out if you please."
Squeak," said the little mouse; "squeak, squeak, squeak,"
Said all the young ones too;
"We never creep out when cats are about,
Because we are afraid of you."
So the cunning old Cat lay down on a mat
By the fire in the servants' hall:
"If the little mice peep, they'll think I'm asleep ;"
So, she rolled herself up like a ball.
'Squeak," said the little mouse, "we'll creep out, And eat some Cheshire cheese;
That silly old Cat is asleep on the mat,
And we may sup at our ease."
Nibble, nibble, nibble, went the little mice,
And they licked their little paws;
Then the cunning old Cat sprang up from her mat,
And caught them all with her claws.
PREPARING FOR SUNDAY.
HASTE! put your playthings all away,
To-morrow is the Sabbath-day.
Come, bring to me your Noah's Ark,
Your pretty tinkling music-cart;
Because, my love, you must not play,
But holy keep the Sabbath-day.
Bring me your German village, please,
With all its houses, gates, and trees;
Your waxen doll with eyes of blue,
And all her tea-things, bright and new;
Because, you know, you must not play,
But love to keep the Sabbath-day.
Now, take your Sunday pictures down;
King David with his harp and crown,
Good little Samuel on his knees,
And many pleasant sights like these;
Because, you know, you must not play,
But learn of God upon this day.
There is your hymn-book. You shall learn
A verse, and some sweet kisses earn;
Your book of Bible stories, too,
Which dear mamma will read to you:
I think, although you must not play,
We'll have a happy Sabbath-day.-M. L. Duncan.
MISSIONARY HYMN.
FROM Greenland's icy mountains,
From India's coral strand,
Where Afric's sunny fountains
Roll down their golden sand;
From many an ancient river,
From many a palmy plain,
They call us to deliver
Their land from error's chain!
What though the spicy breezes
Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle,
Though every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile:
In vain with lavish kindness
The gifts of God are strewn,
The heathen, in his blindness,
Bows down to wood and stone!
Shall we, whose souls are lighted
With wisdom from on high,
Shall we to men benighted
The lamp of life deny?
Salvation! oh, Salvation!
The joyful sound proclaim,
Till each remotest nation
Has learned Messiah's name!
Waft, waft, ye winds His story,
And you ye waters roll,
Till, like a sea of glory,
It spreads from pole to pole;
Till o'er our ransom'd nature
The Lamb for sinners slain;
Redeemer, King, Creator,
In bliss returns to reign!
"HUG me closer, closer, mother,
Put your arms around me tight,
I am cold and tired, mother,
And I feel so strange to-night.
Something hurts me here, dear mother,
Like a stone upon my breast;
Oh! I wonder, wonder, mother,
Why it is I cannot rest.
"All the day, while you were working, As I lay upon my bed,
I was trying to be patient,
And to think of what you said:
How the kind and blessed Jesus
Loves His lambs to watch and keep;
And I wish'd He'd come and take me
In His arms that I might sleep.
“Just before the lamp was lighted,
Just before the children came;
While the room was very quiet,
I heard some one call my name.
All at once the windows opened;
In a field were lambs and sheep;
Some from out a brook were drinking,
Some were lying fast asleep.
"But I could not see the Saviour,
Though I strained my eyes to see;
And I wondered if He saw me,
If He'd speak to such as me.
In a moment I was looking
On a world so bright and fair,
Which was full of little children,
And they seemed so happy there.
They were singing, oh, how sweetly!
Sweeter songs I never heard;
They were singing sweeter, mother,
Than can sing our pretty bird;
And while I my breath was holding,
One so bright upon me smiled,
That I knew it must be Jesus,
And He said, 'Come here, my child.
"Come up here, my little Bessie;
Come up here and live with Me;
Where the children never suffer,
But are happier than you see.'
Then I thought of all you told me
Of that bright and happy land;
I was going, when you called me,
When you came and kissed my hand.
"And at first I felt so sorry
You had called me; I would go-
Oh! to sleep, and never suffer ;-
Mother, don't be crying so.
Hug me closer, closer, mother;
Put your arms around me tight:
Oh, how much I love you, mother!
But I feel so strange to-night."
And the mother press'd her closer
To her over-burden'd breast;
On the heart so near to breaking,
Lay the heart so near at rest.
In the solemn hour of midnight,
In the darkness calm and deep,
Lying on her mother's bosom,
Little Bessie fell asleep.
|