be cheered by the sallies of youth.

Religion! what treasure untold

Resides in that heavenly word!

More precious than silver or gold,

Or all that this earth can afford.

But the sound of the church-going bell

These valleys and rocks never heard,

Ne'er sighed at the sound of a knell,

Or smiled when a Sabbath appeared.

Ye winds, that have made me your sport,

Convey to this desolate shore

Some cordial endearing report,

Of a land I shall visit no more.

My friends, do they now and then send

A wish or a thought after me?

O tell me I yet have a friend,

Though a friend I am never to see.

How fleet is a glance of the mind!

Compared with the speed of its flight,

The tempest itself lags behind,

And the swift-winged arrows of light.

When I think of my own native land,

In a moment I seem to be there;

But, alas! recollection, at hand,

Soon hurries me back to despair.

But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest.

The beast is laid down in his lair,

Even here is a season of rest,

And I to my cabin repair.

There is mercy in every place;

And mercy, encouraging thought!

Gives even affliction a grace,

And reconciles man to his lot.

DON'T KILL THE BIRDS.

Don't kill the birds!—the little birds,

That sing about your door,

soon as the joyous spring has come,

And chilling storms are o'er.

 

The little birds!—how sweet they sing!

O! let them joyous live;

And do not seek to take their life,

Which you can never give.

 

Don't kill the birds!—the pretty birds

That play among the trees!

'T would make the earth a cheerless place,

Should we dispense with these.

 

The little birds! how fond they play!

Do not disturb their sport;

But let them warble forth their songs,

Till winter cuts them short.

Don't kill the birds!—the happy birds

That bless the field and grove:

Such harmless things to look upon,

They claim our warmest love.

 

QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS.

Who showed the little ant the way

Her narrow hole to bore,

And spend the pleasant summer day

In laying up her store?

 

The sparrow builds her pretty nest

Of wool, and hay, and moss;

Who told her how to build it best,

And lay the twigs across?