TREASURES.

FOR THE NEW YEAR.

IN little Lucy's garden grew
A Morning Glory bright;
Its color was not pink, or blue,
Or purple: it was white.

To watch this plant was Lucy's pride:
She reared it with such care,
It hung its flowers on every side,

And scented all the air.

"Alas, alas! my heart it grieves,"

Once little Lucy said,

"That, when the sun has kissed its leaves, My flower begins to fade.

I find it every morning bright,
The bees around it play;

But, long before the fall of night,
Its bloom has passed away.