SPRING — CUCKOO.

The Bee is humming in the Sun, The yellow Cowslip springs; And hark! from yonder Woodland's side Again the Cuckoo sings!

"Cuckoo,—Cuckoo!" no other note, She sings, from day to day, But I, though a poor Cottage Girl, Can work, and read, and pray.

And whilst in knowledge I rejoice, Which heavenly truth displays, Oh! let me still employ my voice, In my Redeemer's praise.