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He's crossing o'er the wold apace, He's stronger than the storm ;
He does not feel the cold, not he� His heart it is so warm ;
For father's heart is stout and true
As ever human bosom knew !
He makes all toil, all hardship light;
Would all men were the same! So ready to be pleased�so kind;
So very slow to blame! Folks need not be unkind, austere, For love hath readier will than fear.
Nay, do not close the shutters, child;
For far along the lane The little window looks, and he
Can see it shining plain. I've heard him say he loves to mark The cheerful fire-light through the dark.
And we'll do all that father likes;
His wishes are so few� Would they were more�that every hour
Some wish of his I knew! I'm sure it makes a happy day, When I can please him auy way.
I know he's coming, by this sign�
That baby's almost wild; See how he laughs, and crows, and stares!
Heaven bless the merry child! He's father's self in face and limb, And father's heart is strong in him.
Hark ! hark ! I hear his footsteps now ;
He's through the garden-gate; Run, little Bess, and ope the door,
And do not let him wait! Shout, baby, shout, and clap thy hands, For father on the threshold stands!
What it says I don't know, But it sings a loud song.
But green leaves and blossoms, And sunny warm weather,
And singing and loving, All come back together.
And the lark is so brimful
Of gladness and love� The green fields below him,
The blue sky above-That he sings, and he sings,
Aud forever sings he, " I love my love, and
My love loves me!"
CHOOSING A NAME. Mary Lamb.
I have got a new-born sister� I was nigh the first that kissed her. When the nursing-woman brought her To papa�his infant daughter� How papa's dear eyes did glisten I She will shortly be to christen, And papa has made the offer, I shall have the naming of her.
Now I wonder what would please her�
Charlotte, Julia, or Louisa ?
Ann and Mary�they're too common ;
Joan's too formal for a woman ;
Jane's a prettier name beside,
But we had a Jane that died.
They would say, if 'twas Rebecca,
That she was a little Quaker.
Edith's pretty, but that looks
Better in old English books;
Ellen's left off long ago;
Blanche is out of fashion now.
None that I have named as yet
Are so good as Margaret.
Emily is neat and fine;
What do you think of Caroline?
How I'm puzzled and perplexed
What to choose or think of next!
I am in a little fever,
Lest the name that I should give her
Should disgrace her or defame her:
I will leave papa to name her!
WHAT THE BIRDS SAY.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
Do you ask what the birds say ?
The sparrow, the dove, The linnet, the thrush say,
" I love ! I love !"
In winter they're silent, The wind is so strong;