What of the night, watchman? What of the night?
"Cloudy-all quiet-no land yet―all's right."
Be wakeful, be vigilant !-danger may be

At an hour when all seemeth securest to thee.

How! gains the leak so fast? Clean out the hold—
Hoist up thy merchandise-heave out thy gold!
There-let the ingots go !-now the ship rights;
Hurrah! the harbour's near-lo, the red lights!

Slacken not sail yet at inlet or island;

Straight for the beacon steer--straight for the high land; Crowd all thy canvas on, cut through the foamChristian cast anchor now-HEAVEN IS THY HOME.

66

THE CHILD AND THE STAR.

“TELL me, my little one, tell me why,
Silent and steadfast, you gaze on high:
What does my darling see?"

Look, mother, up at that beautiful star,
Shining and glimmering down from afar,
How it watches over me.

"Every night as I fall asleep

In at the window it comes to peep,
White, and clear, and caim.

"Often I think the bright star must be
of our Father looking on me,
Keeping me safe from harm."

The eye

"Little one, pretty one, turn where we will,
God in his mercy is guarding us still;
Child, He is everywhere.

"Down in the depths, or up in the sky,
None from His presence away can fly ;
By day, by night He is there.

"Innocent little one, gazing above,

Look up for ever in faith and in love,
Whatever in life befall."

C. B.

PUSSY'S HIDING-PLACE.

OH, where is my kitten, my little grey kitten?
I've hunted the house all around;

I've looked in the cradle, and under the table,
But nowhere can kitty be found.

I've hunted the clover and flower beds over;
I peeped in the old wooden spout;

I went to the wood-pile, and stayed there a good while,
But never my kitty came out.

I've been in the attic and made a great racket;

I peeped into little Dick's bed;

I've looked in the stable as much as I'm able;
I hunted the wood-house and shed.

I called little Rover, to hunt the field over,
And help find my kitty for me;

No dog could be kinder, but he couldn't find her—
Oh, where can my poor kitty be?

I saw a boy trundle away a small bundle,
And drop it down into the brook.

Could that be my kitty, so cunning and pretty?
I think I will run there and look:

For there is no knowing what people are throwing,
When things are tied up in a sack;

Whatever they carry, not long do they tarry,

And always they come empty back!

AUNT CLARA.