Through the corn the chil-dren creep,
Where the nod-ding pop-pies sleep,
Fill-ing hands and a-prons white
With the scar-let blos-soms bright. 
Gau-dy pop-pies must not stay
Till the fu-ture har-vest day: 
They would wi-ther when the heat
Ri-pens all the gold-en wheat—­
Life for them is short and sweet.

ON THE WA-TER.

In our lit-tle boat to glide
On the wa-ter blue and wide,
While the sky is smooth and bright,
What could give us more de-light? 
See the rip-ples, how they run,
Twink-ling bright-ly in the sun;
While re-flect-ed we can see
Sha-dows of each hill and tree. 
See the li-lies, round and large,
Float-ing near the reed-y marge,
Where the bul-rush has its place
And the hea-vy wa-ter-mace. 
See the great green dra-gon-fly,
And the swal-low skim-ming by. 
See the fish-es spring and gleam,
Ere they splash in-to the stream,
See the bright king-fish-er too
Dart a gleam of green and blue. 
These are all a-round our boat
On the wa-ter whilst we float.

HURT-FUL WEEDS.

“Ev-e-ry plant, which My hea-ven-ly
Fa-ther hath not plant-ed, shall be root-ed
up.”—­St. Matt.  XV. 13.

Though in the corn that waves a-round
  Are thorns, and many hurt-ful weeds,
That spring in e-ven good-ly ground
  And plant-ed thick with choic-est seeds;

Though in our hearts, how-e-ver taught
  And trained to guard them-selves from sin,
The good is mixed with evil thought
  Our en-e-my has sown there-in,

God’s plant-ing shall not be o’er-thrown
  By world-ly weeds that cling a-bout
His corn; and what He hath not sown
  Shall in His time be root-ed out.

Then, that our lives may yield their fruit,
  Still let it be our con-stant prayer,
That God from out our hearts will root
  All seeds He hath not plant-ed there.

[Illustration]

[Illustration:  The but-ter-fly.]

THE BUT-TER-FLY.

A yel-low But-ter-fly one day,
  Grown tired of play and tired of fly-ing,
Up-on a this-tle blos-som grey
  With out-spread wings was i-dly ly-ing.

The stur-dy bees went hum-ming by,
  Draw-ing sweet ho-ney from the clo-ver,
Nor stir-red the yel-low But-ter-fly,
  For he was but an i-dle ro-ver.

Two lit-tle girls, named Anne and May,
  Came by with mirth and laugh-ter ring-ing,
Anne ran to seize the in-sect gay—­
  May fol-low-ed fast and ceased her sing-ing.

“Oh! dar-ling An-nie, let it be,
  Your touch will rob its plumes of beau-ty;
And God, who made both you and me,
  Has taught us kind-ness is a du-ty.”

“Go A-way, ro-ver!”