LITTLE ONES AT HOME.

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O yes, mamma; how brightly
It spreads its golden wings,
And flies away so lightly,
The gayest of gay things.
And God can give my brother
An equal power to rise,
From this life to another,
And dwell above the skies.

  
    
 
   
   
   
   
    
 
    
 
    
 
    
 
    
   

THE RESURRECTION.

My pretty flowers are gone away,
All covered o’er with snow ;

And I must wait till next May-day
To see my violets grow.

I’m very sure the leaves will peep
Again above the ground ;
Although the roots are buried deep,
And not a stem is found.

I’m told, that when the grave shall close
O’er little Jane and me,

We, like our own sweet, fading rose,
Shall dead but seem to be.

I know my mother tells me true;
I'm not afraid to go

To God, who showers my plants with dew,
And covers them with snow.

Songs. 2