BOBOLINK AND CANARY.

NEARLY two months ago we presented the "Bobolink and the Canary" to the "Church Union" children. Since then, a famous minister who loves the little folks has tried his hand at rhyme for their sakes, and sent us a sort of answer to the verses which we print again below. Having both of the poems, the children will get the whole story, and the precious lesson which so many old folks have learned "under the cross."

T the window hangs Canary,

AT

Singer sweet and true;

Bobolink, from out the hedge-row,

He is singing too.

Now his liquid notes Canary

Pours like music rain;

Now the voice from out the hedge-row,

Bobolink again.

Stints his song awhile Canary:

"Who may this bird be,

That with ever-answering carol

Strives to vie with me?"

"Only Bobolink, the singer;

Merry bird am I.

Through the wood and fields and meadows
Back and forth I fly."

Now his bravest song Canary,

Now his finest trill;

Bobolink's from out the hedge-row
Braver, finer still!

Then the tender-voiced Canary,
Wondering, paused in pain,
And the careless hedge-row singer
Trilled his lay again.

"I am weary," sobs Canary,

"I am all outdone;

'T was the trial test between us,·

Bobolink has won.

"Even my mistress, she who fancied

My poor song divine,

See how eagerly she listens

To his song, not mine.

"Knows she why in happy music He surpasses me?

I am but a caged Canary;

Bobolink is free."

THE OTHER SIDE; OR, CANARY AND

BOBOLINK.

HUS the little prisoner trilled

THU

His passionate lamentings;

Tragic song could ne'er express
Deeper soul-repentings.

Never from wild orange grove
Poured such tones of feeling,

To the lady's tender heart
Depths of woe revealing.

While the little warbler sang,
Tides of grief awaking,
Tears like rain began to fall,

As if her heart were breaking.

Then did Bobolink attempt

Those wild notes of sadness;

But for all that he could do,

It was only gladness.

Every twist he gave his throat,

'T was a merry clatter;

You'd have thought a Christy's band

Asking what's the matter.

Often as he tried the voice

Of the sad Canary,

Nature's power left him no choice

But that of making merry.

So it was the grief that won
The praise of sweetest singing;
For you cannot judge the end
By a gay beginning.

"Ah, my pretty bird," she cried, "Yours the song of Nature;

All the art of Bobolink

Makes but an imitator.

"Joy is all that he can preach, And that he has to borrow;

Adversity alone can teach

The deeper tones of sorrow."

NEARER TO CHRIST.

ORD, I would from the world retreat,
And, weeping at thy sacred feet,

Would all my sins and follies mourn,
And to my Saviour's grace return.

I come to thee for heavenly rest, I cannot with the world be blest; 'Tis sin and grief if I can be

A moment happy far from thee.

Then save me from the Tempter's power,

And make me watchful every hour;

Thy Spirit for my comfort give,
And let thy word within me live.

I would be fastened to thy cross,
And count all other things but loss, —
Would tell to mortals, far and near,
Thy precious name, to sinners dear.

Oh keep me near and dear to thee,
Till I thy face in glory see;

Cleansed by thy blood, and saved by grace,
I shall forever sing thy praise.