There was a wee lamb that still would play,
Though others were resting, after day,
And what did its mother do?
She called it so gently to her side,
She soothed it with loving care and pride,
And then, ere that mother knew,
Her lambkin had gone to sleep.
There was a wee babe that would not rest,
Though crimson and purple crowned the west,
And what did its mother do?
She made this wee song of lamb and bird,
She sang it so softly, every word,
And then, ere that mother knew,
Her darling had gone to sleep.
GEORGE COOPER.
THE SWALLOWS' NEST.
HARLEY came from school one Friday afternoon. He was going home with his grandfather, at whose house he was to spend the next day. It was the month of May; and the drive of ten miles among the green trees and fields was very delightful.
