LITTLE ONES AT HOME. 255

   
    
       
   
     
   
    
    
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
    
    
 

 

  

The gardener came, with skilful toil
He bore it to a friendly soil,

Where, nurtured by his gentle care,
Its blossomed fragrance filled the air.

Just so our little brother grew,
Where sickness, chilly as the dew,
And sin and sorrow, dark as night,
Combined the tender plant to blight.

Jesus removed the lovely flower
Safe to his own immortal bower,
To bloom in Paradise more fair,
And shed a richer fragrance there.

THE HAPPY LAND.
There is a happy land,
Far, far away,
Where saints in glory stand,
Bright, bright as day.
O how they sweetly sing,
“Worthy is our Saviour King ;
Loud lIct his praises ring ;
Praise, praise for aye.”

 
  

 

Come to that happy land,
Come, come away ;

Why will ye doubting stand,

Why stili delay?