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The seed that finds a stony soil
Shoots forth a hasty blade, But ill repays the sower's toil-
Soon wither'd, scorch'd, and dead.
All hopes of harvest there;
But not a fruitful ear.
Receive the trust in vain,
And pick up all the grain.
Has bless'd the happy field; How plenteous is the golden store
The deep-wrought furrows yield!
Of thy preparing grace;
Provide a faithful place.
Before the bright sun rises over the hill,
In the corn-field poor Mary is seen, Desirous her little blae apron to fill,
With the few scatter'd ears she can glean. She never leaves off, or runs out of her place,
To play, or to idle and chat, Except now and then she will wipe her hot face;
And fan herself with her broad hat.
“ Poor girl, hard at work in the heat of the sun,
How tired and hot you must be ! Why don't you leave off, as the others have dono,
And sit with them under the tree?"
“ Oh, no! for my mother lies ill in ber bed,
Too feeble to spin or to knit: And my poor little brothers are crying for bread,
And yet we can't give them a bit.
" Then could I be merry, and idle, and play,
While they are so hungry and ill ?
My liitle blue apron to fill.
THE GOOD SHEPHERD.
The Lord my pasture shall prepare,
When in the sultry glebe Ffaine,
Though in the paths of death I tread,
Tho' in a þare and rugged way,
THE APPLE TREE,
OLD John had an apple-tree healthy and green, Which bore the best codlings that ever were seen,
So juicy, so mellow, and red; And when they were ripe, as old Johnny was poor, He sold them to children that pass'd by his door, To buy him a morsel of bread.
ittle Di ck, his next neighbour, one often might see With longing eye viewing this nice apple-tree,
And wishing a codling might fall: One day as he stood in the heat of the sun, He began thinking whether he might not take one,
And then he look'd over the wall.
And as be again cast his eye on the tree,
So cool and refreshing to-day!
And nobody is in the way.”
But stop, little boy, take your hand from the bough, Remember, tho' old John can't see you just now,
And no one to chide you is nighThere is one, who by night, just as well as by day, Can see a you do, and hear all you say,
From his glorious throne in the sky.
Oh then, little boy, come away from the tree,
Or any thing rather than steal;
However we think to al.
GOD EVERY WHERE.
God made the world—in ev'ry land,
His love and pow'r abound; All are protected by his hand,
As well as Irish ground. The Indian hut and Irish cot
Alike his care must own; Though savage nations know him not,
But worship wood and stone..
He sees and governs distant lands,
And constant hounty pours-
To Isapland's frozen shores.
Where feet have never trod,
An ever-present God.
All the inhabitants of earth,
Who dwell beneath the sun, Of different nations, name, and birth,
He knows them ev'ry one.
Alike the rich and poor are known,
The cultur'd and the wild;
And ev'ry little child.