A Child's Prayer.

Help me to give Thee mine, dear Lord

Make new this sinful heart;

Yea, give me grace to live aright!

Thy strength to me impart.

Teach me to know Thy holy word,
To do Thy gracious will;
Thy Spirit give to reign within,
My soul with good to fill.

In everything I find to do,
Where'er I am, dear Lord,
May I remember Thou art near,
According to Thy word.

Oh, may I ever keep in mind

d;

That all things Thou dost know; That Thou wilt give what most I need, That I in grace may grow.

Yea, I would be a shining light
In this dark world of sin;

A light to guide some wandering soul
The Shepherd's fold within.

Then, Jesus, when my race is run,
Thou Saviour full of love,
Oh come and take me to Thyself,

To live with Thee above!

S.

227

in every good work suited to advance the Christian cause, you will secure for yourselves a lasting happiness, and hasten that blissful period predicted in ancient prophecy, when 'the wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad, and the desert shall rejoice, and blossom as the rose.'

A Child's Prayer.

Help me to give Thee mine, dear Lord;

Make new this sinful heart;

Yea, give me grace to live aright!

Thy strength to me impart.

Teach me to know Thy holy word,
To do Thy gracious will;
Thy Spirit give to reign within,
My soul with good to fill.

In everything I find to do,
Where'er I am, dear Lord,
May I remember Thou art near,
According to Thy word.

Oh, may I ever keep in mind

That all things Thou dost know; That Thou wilt give what most I need, That I in grace may grow.

Yea, I would be a shining light
In this dark world of sin;

A light to guide some wandering soul
The Shepherd's fold within.

Then, Jesus, when my race is run,
Thou Saviour full of love,

Oh come and take me to Thyself,

To live with Thee above!

S.

227

All day they're playing in their Sunday dress,
When night repose, for they can do no less;
Then to the heathbell's purple head they fly,
And like to princes in their slumbers lie,
Secure from rain, and dropping dews, and all,
In silken beds, and roomy, painted hall.
One almost fancies that such happy things,
With coloured hoods, and richly burnish'd wings,
Are fairy folk, in splendid masquerade
Disguised, as if of mortal folk afraid.'

HO is not half tempted to envy the life of a butterfly, spent among the lovely wildlings of moor and field, or in greater luxuriance amidst the more gorgeous beauties of the cultivated garden; flitting on busy wing from bush to shrub, examining with curious eye each plant and herb, reposing in the drooping bell, dining off the honeyed flower, bathing its delicate feet in refreshing dew, and then

Stories of Insect Life.

229

pausing on some fragrant blossom to dry its moistened

wings?

6 Happy insect! happy thou,

Dost neither age nor winter know;

But when thou'st drunk, and danced and sung
Thy fill, the flow'ry leaves among,

Sated with thy summer feast,

Thou retir'st to endless rest.'

But many a moth and butterfly live beyond their 'summer feast;' others again come to us with the first gleam of the opening year's sunshine; and one of these earliest heralds of the spring is the beautiful brimstone butterfly, delicate in tint and soft in colour, which may be found sporting in almost any garden, flying in that peculiar, hurried, zigzag direction, doubtless to evade the quick-sighted bird, or basking in the first rays of sunshine that spread their genial warmth over field and garden. It often appears as early as February, when that first of woodland flowers, 'the rathe primrose'

• The spring's own spouse,'

as Ben Jonson calls it, is opening its pale buds in gladness. Much does our pretty brimstone butterfly resemble this blossom in its pure sulphur hue, and often on it may the insect be seen to rest.

It is about the commonest butterfly to be found in the north of England. Its caterpillar feeds on the alder and buckthorn, and is green, with small dots on the back, and a delicate yellow line running along each side. The chrysalis is green, marked with red, and rather curious in shape. It is attached by the tail to a branch or twig; and as if to render it more secure, a loose silken thread is suspended round its middle.

Equally pretty and equally common are the white butterflies, which we so constantly see hovering about in our kitchen gardens, alighting on the edge of the cabbage leaves, where they deposit their eggs. Though boasting neither richness nor variety in colouring, there is much