FOR CHILDREN. 69

THE MOSS-ROSE.
FROM THE GERMAN OF KERUMMACHER.

Tue Angel of the flowers, one day,
Beneath a rose-tree sleeping lay ;
That spirit to whose charge ‘tis given
To bathe young buds in dews of heaven ;—
Awaking from his light repose,
The Angel whispered to the rose:
**O fondest object of my care,
Still fairest found, where all are fair ;
For the sweet shade thou givest to me,
Ask what thou wilt, ‘tis granted thee!”
“ Then,” said the rose, with deepened glow,
**On me another grace bestow :”
The spirit paused in silent thought,—
What grace was there that flower had not ?
Twas but a moment—o’er the rose
A veil of moss the Angel throws,
And, robed in nature's simplest weed,
Could there a flower that rose exceed ?

SUMMER EVENING AT THE FARM.

Down the deep and miry lane,
Creaking comes the empty wain ;
And driver on the shaft-horse sits,
Whistling now and then by fits;
And oft, with his accustomed call.
Urging on the sluggish Ball.