THE OLD COTTAGE CLOCK.

H! the old clock of the household stock

Was the brightest thing and the neatest; Its hands, though old, had a touch of gold, And its chime rang still the sweetest. "T was a monitor, too, though its words were few, Yet they lived through nations altered; And its voice, still strong, warned old and young When the voice of friendship faltered;

"Tick, tick," it said

"quick, quick to bedFor nine I've given warning;

Up, up and go, or else you know,

You'll never rise soon in the morning."

A friendly voice was that old, old clock,
As it stood in the corner smiling,

And blessed the time, with a merry chime,
The Wintry hours beguiling;

But a cross old voice was that tiresome clock,

As it called at daybreak boldly,

When the dawn looked gray on the misty way,
And the early air blew coldly;

"Tick, tick," it said-"quick, out of bed

For five I've given warning ;

You'll never have health, you'll never get wealth,
Unless you're up soon in the morning."

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THE OLD COTTAGE CLOCK.

Still hourly the sound goes round and round,
With a tone that ceases never;

While tears are shed for the bright days fled,
And the old friends lost forever;

Its heart beats on, though hearts are gone
That warmer beat and younger;

Its hands still move, though hands we love
Are clasped on earth no longer!

"Tick, tick," it said-"to the churchyard bed-
The grave hath given warning-

Up, up and rise, and look to the skies,
And prepare for a heavenly morning."

-Christian Intelligencer.

A LITTLE WORD.

A little word in kindness spoken,

A motion or a tear,

Has often healed the heart that's broken!

And made a friend sincere.

A word--a look-has crushed to earth,
Full many a budding flower,
Which had a smile but owned its birth,

Would bless life's darkest hour.

Then deem it not an idle thing,
A pleasant word to speak;

The face you wear, the thoughts you bring,

I SAW THEE WEEP.

GEORGE G. BYRON.

I saw thee weep-the big bright tear
Came o'er that eye of blue:
And then methought it did appear
A violet dropping dew:

I saw thee smile-the sapphire's blaze
Beside thee ceased to shine;

It could not match the living rays
That fill'd that glance of thine.

As clouds from yonder sun receive
A deep and mellow dye,

Which scarce the shade of coming eve

Can banish from the sky,

Those smiles unto the moodiest mind

Their own pure joy impart;

Their sunshine leaves a glow behind,
That lightens o'er the heart.

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油茶

NAPOLEON AT REST.

J. PIERPONT.

IS falchion flashed along the Nile,

His host he led through Alpine snows; .O'er Moscow's towers, that blazed the while, His eagle-flag unrolled-and froze!

Here sleeps he now, alone!-not one,

Of all the kings whose crowns he gave,

Bends o'er his dust; nor wife nor son

Has ever seen or sought his grave.

Behind the sea-girt rock, the star

That led him on from crown to crown

Has sunk, and nations from afar

Gazed as it faded and went down.

High is his tomb: the ocean flood,

Far, far below, by storms is curled-
As round him heaved, while high he stood,
A stormy and unstable world.

Alone he sleeps: the mountain cloud,

That night hangs round him, and the breath