LITTLE ONES AT HOME. 113

 

No, no, my child; in summer mild,
The bees laid up their, store

Of honey-drops in little"ups,
Till they would want no more.

In cups, you said—how are they made?
Are they as large as ours?

O no; they’re all made nice and small,
Of wax found in the flowers.

Our summer’s day to work and play,
Is now in mercy given,
And we must strive, long as we live,

To lay up stores in heaven.
Hastings’ “‘ Nursery Songs.”

 

THE WANDERINGS OF THE BIRDS.

Autumn has come, so bare and gray,
The woods are brown and red,

The flowers all have passed away,
The forest leaves are dead.

The little birds at morning dawn,
Clothed in warm coats of feather,

Conclude that they away will roam,
To seek for milder weather.