I from thee would know the reason, THRUSH. Come thou little would-be-wiser, I will tell thee; in so doing Learn thee something worth thy knowing. As to singing out of season, Here thy words are touched with treason. God his bounty is bestowing, While the stream of time is flowing. When stern Winter sweeps the plain, And all nature seems in pain, S. S. THE MISSIONARIES. THERE is a kind of sacred charm in the very sound of the word " Missionary." We are glad it is so, for we wish the Young to love and support this holy cause whilst they are boys and girls, and then when they become men and women, they will love and support it more and more Why should we love and support it? Because it is the greatest work and the best work in the world. Inventing machinery-making railroads and a thousand other things are all very good in their places, but they are not worth naming when compared with going to teach the poor dark, barbarous heathen the knowledge of the great God, and the love of Jesus Christ whom he has sent to save us. See the Missionary leaving England and all his friends and comforts. He goes to the naked African roaming over his hills and vallies like the wild beasts around him. He collects a few of these scattered savages. He tells them wonderful things! They knew not God-had not heard of his word-never kept a sabbathnever saw a book-knew nothing of the world in which they lived-and as they were, their fathers had been for ages. See them again— taught by the missionary they have built houses, and they have clothing, and books, and schools, and they meet on the sabbath for worship and prayer! Is not this a great work then, to turn the savage into a man, the barbarian into a Christian! The missionaries are doing this great work. Help them. You may help them. Children may help them. Hundreds of pounds are given every year by children—given in farthings, half-pennies, and pennies, perhaps, but they soon make pounds-hundreds of pounds. Little Reader, do what you can, all you can. A MISSIONARY HYMN. RISE, Sun of Glory, rise! And chase those shades of night, Oh! chase those dismal shades away, Behold, how heathens dwell To haste that sacred morn, Nor leave the world forlorn : And we'll reflect that light, As, mid the gloom of night, The twinkling planets shine ; Pleas'd to emit the feeblest ray, Then as each planet fades We'll vanish with the shades, Sink in obscurity away, And fade before the rising day. The winds are hush'd, the breeze is calm Heavenly accents fall, Like holy dew,-the spirit's balm, He reigns! to earth his peace is given; He reigns! the light of all in heaven. SOPHIA M. BURDER. THE POOR WIDOW TO HER CHILD. OH sink to sleep my darling boy, Thy father's dead, thy mother lonely; Of late thou wert his pride, his joy, But now thou hast but one to own thee. But ah! such heartless things live in it; A little while forget thy sorrow, Our wretchedness-then close thine eyes love, Oh! most unbless'd on earth is she, |