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PICTORIAL MISCELLANY. 



How cheerful the farmer ! do you mark that smile, 

 That lights up his honest face 1 Meanwhile 

 He is humming an air the hours to beguile, 



While breaking the bright green sward ; 

 No fears are filling his quiet heart, 

 For he trusts in God, if he does his part, 



That his labor shall reap its reward. 



He knows right well who it is who said, 

 " Who tilleth the soil shall not want bread, 

 While light o'er the earth by the sun is shed," 



Rich plenty shall fill his store : 

 When winter has come with chilling blast, 

 All sorrow away from his home is cast, 



And the poor are not turned from his door. 



It is May, and the green young leaf is unrolled, 

 The sweet-scented blossoms their beauties unfold, 

 Where the honey-bees gather a levee to hold, 



All nature is smiling with joy ; 

 Come away to the fields with the gamboling herds, 

 With the murmur of brooks arid the songs of the birds 



Your hearts' purest praises employ. 



