﻿222 PICTORIAL MISCELLANY. 



Up to thy glorious throne on high, 

 As incense, may my thanks ascend. 



Thanks for thy goodness and thy grace, 

 Thanks for thy teachings from above ; 



Thanks that thou hast a dwelling-place 

 Prepared for children of thy love. 



But if to see another day 



Thy wisdom hath denied to me, 



Hear me, O Father, when I pray 



To wake in heaven and live with Thee 



Florie. 



I LOVE the prattle of a child, 

 So artless, gushing, free and wild ; 

 With half coquettish hoyden air, 

 They toss about the waving hair ; 

 Confess their likings and dislikes 

 Speak out, howe'er the subject strikes , 

 And wind their wiles around your heart, 

 Until you cannot from them part. 



I wish you could our Florie see, 



An artless child 'tween two and three ; 



Who trots about where'er I go, 



And always asks, " Why do you so?" 



She speaks quite plain, and talks so fast, 



She is among the magpies classed. 



Never a fretful word or tone, 



Hath little Florie ever shown ; 



But judgment like a mind matured, 



As though to crosses oft enured. 



Perchance she doth an apple spy, 

 For her little hand to reach, too high ; 

 The quick inquiry, " Give it me ?" 

 I answer, " Busy, don't you see !" 



