SEVEN TIMES ONE.

THERE'S no dew left on the daisies and clover,
There's no rain left in heaven :

I've said my "seven times" over and over,
Seven times one are seven.

I am old, so old I can write a letter ;

My birthday lessons are done;

The lambs play always, they know no better,
They are only one times one.

O Moon! in the night I have seen you sailing

And shining so round and low;

You were bright, ah bright! but your light is failing,

You are nothing now but a bow.

You Moon, have you done something wrong in heaven,
That God has hidden your face?

I hope if you have, you will soon be forgiven,
And shine again in your place.

O velvet bee, you're a dusty fellow;

You've powdered your legs with gold!
O brave marshmary buds, rich and yellow,
Give me your money to hold !

O columbine, open your folded wrapper,
Where two twin turtle-doves dwell!
O cuckoo-pint, toll me the purple clapper
That hangs in your clear green bell!

And show me your nest, with the young ones in it,

I will not steal it away;

I am old! you may trust me, linnet, linnet,

I am seven times one to-day.

A WISH.

"BE my fairy, mother,

Give me a wish a day;
Something, as well in sunshine

As when the rain-drops play."

-Jean Ingelow.

"And if I were a fairy,

With but one wish to spare,

What should I give thee, darling,-
To quiet thine earnest prayer?"

"I'd like a little brook, mother,

All for my very own,

To laugh all day among the trees,
And shine on the mossy stone;

"To run right under the window,
And sing me fast asleep;
With soft steps and a tender sound,
Over the grass to creep.

"Make it run down the hill, mother,
With a leap like a tinkling bell,
So fast I never can catch the leaf
That into its fountain fell.

"Make it as wild as a frightened bird,

As crazy as a bee,

With a noise like the baby's funny laugh ;-

That's the brook for me!"

A LITTLE GIRL'S FANCIES.

O LITTLE flowers, you love me so,

You could not do without me; O little birds that come and go,

You sing sweet songs about me; O little moss, observed by few,

That round the tree is creeping, You like my head to rest on you, When I am idly sleeping.

- Rose Terry.

O rushes by the river side,

You bow when I come near you; O fish, you leap about with pride, Because you think I hear you; O river, you shine clear and bright, To tempt me to look in you; O water-lilies, pure and white, You hope that I shall win you.

O pretty things, you love me so,
I see I must not leave you;
You'd find it very dull, I know,

I should not like to grieve you. Don't wrinkle up, you silly moss;

My flowers, you need not shiver; My little buds, don't look so cross; Don't talk so loud, my river

I'm telling you I will not go,
It's foolish to feel slighted;
It's rude to interrupt me so,
You ought to be delighted.
Ah! now you're growing good, I see,
Though anger is beguiling:
The pretty blossoms nod at me ;—
I see a robin smiling.

And I will make a promise, dears,
That will content you, may be :
I'll love you through the happy years,
Till I'm a nice old lady!

True love (like yours and mine) they say

Can never think of ceasing,

But year by year, and day by day,

Keeps steadily increasing.

- Poems written for a Child.

GRACE AND HER FRIENDS.

"YOUR walk is lonely, blue-eyed Grace,
Down the long forest-road to school,
Where shadows troop, in many a place,
From sullen chasm to sunless pool.

Are you not often, little maid,
Beneath the sighing trees afraid?"

'Afraid, - beneath the tall, strong trees

That bend their arms to shelter me, And whisper down, with dew and breeze,

Sweet sounds that float on lovingly,

Till every gorge and cavern seems

Thrilled through and through with fairy dreams?