Though we see, on looking round us,
Man to wickedness is prone,
Though the snares of vice surround us,
Virtue's path but rarely known,
Well we know that in our nature
Is a spark of life divine;

We must free the soul from thraldom,
If we wish that spark to shine.
WE MUST ALL BE UP AND STIRRING,
WITH DETERMINATION TRUE:

YOUNG AND OLD MEN, RICH AND POOR MEN,
ALL HAVE GOT THEIR WORK TO DO.

Life is but a scene of labour,

Every one his task assigned:
We must each assist our neighbour
When we see him lag behind.
We must strive by education
Man's condition to improve,
And bind men of every station
In a bond of mutual love.

ALL MUST THEN BE UP AND STIRRING,

WITH DETERMINATION TRUE :

YOUNG MEN, OLD MEN, RICH MEN, POOR MEN,
Ye have all your work to do.

"Oh! look at that great ugly spider," said Ann, And, screaming, she knocked it away with her fan; "'Tis a great ugly creature as ever can be ;

I wish that it would not come crawling on me."

66

Indeed," said her mother," I'll venture to say "Twill take care, next time, not to come in your way; For after the fright, and the fall and the pain, I'm sure it has much the most cause to complain.

"Now why should you hate the poor insect, my dear? If it hurt you you'd have some excuse for your fear; And if it had known where it was going to,

"Twould have hurried away, and not crawl'd upon you. "For them to fear us is but natural and just,

Who in less than a moment could tread them to dust; But certainly we have no cause for alarm,

For e'en if they tried they could do us ne harm.

66

'Now LOOK-it has got to its home, do you see What a fine curious web it has wove in the tree ? Now this, my dear Ann, is a lesson for you : ONLY SEE WHAT INDUSTRY AND PATIENCE CAN DO ! "So when at your bus'ness you idle and play, Recollect what you've seen of this insect to-day, For fear it should even be found to be true That a poor little spider is better than you."

NOTHING TO DO.

[Earnest, and with care in the dialogue.]
"NOTHING TO DO! "in this world of ours,
Where weeds spring up with fairest flowers,
Where smiles have only a fitful play,
Where hearts are breaking every day!

"NOTHING TO DO!" thou Christian soul,
Wrapping thee round in thy selfish stole:
OFF WITH THE GARMENTS OF SLOTH AND SIN,
CHRIST THY LORD HATH A KINGDOM TO WIN.
"NOTHING TO DO!" There are prayers to lay
On the altar of incense day by day;

THERE ARE FOES TO MEET WITHIN AND WITHOUT,
THERE IS ERROR TO CONQUER, STRONG AND STOUT.
"NOTHING TO DO!" There are minds to teach
The simplest form of Christian speech;
There are hearts to lure, with loving wile,
From the grimmest haunts of Sin's defile.
"NOTHING TO DO!" There are lambs to feed,
The precious hope of the Church's need;
STRENGTH TO BE BORNE to the weak and faint,
Vigils to keep with the doubting saint.

"NOTHING TO DO!" and thy Saviour said,
"FOLLOW THOU ME IN THE PATH I TREAD.'
Lord, lend Thy help the journey through,

Lest, faint, we cry,

"SO MUCH TO DO."

"

SPIRITUAL ARITHMETIC.
[Earnest and boldly.]

Teach us, O Lord, to NUMBER well
The days which Thou hast given,
To shun the road that leads to hell,
And choose the path to heaven.

Though young in years, oh, make us wise
To choose the better part,

IMPROVE our time, and seek Thy grace
Sincerely with our heart.

While in the SCHOOL of life we stay,
And various LESSONS learn ;
Oh, make us wise to mark our way,
And good from ill discern.

Be thou our TEACHER, Lord, we pray,
And let Thy spirit guide;
May we, obedient, day by day,
Ourselves to Thee confide!

Thy mercies, Lord, how great the sum,
When we begin to count,
Which from thy boundless goodness come
How large is the AMOUNT!

Our days flow swiftly as the tide,
And few may now remain ;
Our sins have greatly MULTIPLIED,
And we have liv'd in vain.

Oh, help us to DIVIDE our days,
By wisdom from on high;
To PRACTISE goodness by Thy grace,
As hours and minutes fly.

Oh, may we all APPLY the heart,
Ánd live by Wisdom's RULE,

That we to others may impart

What we have LEARNT at school!

ALL HAVE WORK TO DO.

[Cheerful and boldly.] "Stop, little stream, and tell me why Thou'rt running on so fast, For ever gliding swiftly by, And yet thou'rt never past.

"I love to look into thy face,
Although I'm but a child,

And watch the dimpling eddies play,
And hear thy music wild.

"Thou must be very happy here,
With nothing else to do,
But running by these mossy banks
Beneath the green wood too.

"The pretty robin sings to thee
His cheerful matin song,
While 'mid the leaves the squirrel peeps
And frolics all day long.'

The little streamlet heeded not
The prattling child's request;
But while it still ran swiftly on,
The laughing boy addressed:

""Tis true, I've squirrels, birds and flowers,
To cheer me on my way,
And very pleasant is my lot,

But still I must not stay.

"Like TRUTH, I have my work to do,

My errand to fulfil :

I cool the weary traveller's lips

And help the sea to fill.

"If I should stop and idly lie

Upon my pebbly bed,

Soon all my freshness would be gone,
My verdant banks be dead.

"Our heavenly Father gives to all
His blessings most profuse;
And not the least in wisdom gives
The kindly law of use.

"So, little child, YOUR DUTY DO,

IN CHEERFULNESS ALL DAY,
And you like me shall then be blessed
With flowers upon your way."

TO-MORROW.

BY NATHANIEL COTTON.
[Earnest and vigorous.]

TO-MORROW, didst thou say?

Methought I heard Horatio say, TO-MORROW!
Go to I will not hear of it. To-MORROW?
It is a SHARPER,-who stakes penury
Against thy plenty ;-takes thy ready cash,

And pays thee naught but wishes, hopes, and promises,
The currency of idiots ;-injurious bankrupt,
That gulls the easy creditor!

TO-MORROW?

It is a period nowhere to be found

In all the hoary registers of lime,

Unless perchance in the FOOL'S CALENDAR.
Wisdom disclaims the word, nor holds society

With those who own it. No, my dear Horatio,
'Tis Fancy's child, and Folly is its father;

Wrought of such stuff as DREAMS are; and as baseless As the fantastic visions of the evening.

-

But soft, my friend, arrest the present moments,-
For, be assured, they ALL are arrant tell-tales;
And though their flight be silent, and their paths
Trackless as the winged couriers of the air,
THEY POST TO HEAVEN, and THERE record thy folly;
Because, though stationed on the important watch,
Thou, like a sleeping, faithless sentinel,

Didst let them pass unnoticed, unimproved.

And know, for that thou slumberedst on thy guard,
Thou shalt be made to answer at the bar

For every fugitive; and when thou thus
Shalt stand impleaded at the high tribunal

Of hoodwinked JUSTICE,- -WHO shall tell thy audit?
Then stay the PRESENT instant, dear Horatio;

Imprint the marks of wisdom on its wings;

"TIS OF MORE WORTH THAN KINGDOMS! far more preciou Than all the crimson treasures of life's fount.

Oh! LET IT NOT ELUDE THY GRASP,

But, like the good old patriarch upon record,

HOLD THE FLEET ANGEL FAST UNTIL HE BLESS THEE.