Ah! how we loved them! how we watched...and guärded them from ill,

And tended them, 'mid smiles and tears, with love in deed, and will!

Alas! for our self-seeking! We called these bright

ones ours,

And thought not Who had planted-Who owned these cherished flowers;

But the Master saw their loveliness...to füll perfection grown,

And in the cälm cool midnight, He came and culled His own.

No hireling fingers gathered them, no rûde foot crushed our flowers,

But 'mid the silent evening dews...He walked among the bowers;

Some buds He chōṣe, some hälf-way blōwn, and some that open lay,

And gathered them, and bore them hōme...before the break of day.

Nō mourning now! We oft have mourned...the rûthless bail to see,

The wild north wind and drowning showers...assail their purity;

Now o'er the dell where late they grew...may drive the chilling rain,

But in their home nō storm shall bend...the tenderest leaf again.

But for us the way is weary; our pleasant things

are gone,

Our gärden of delights is void...and desolate and

lōne;

And o'er our life's drear deşert...a tearful glance we

send,

But see no guide throughout the waste, nō comfort at the end.

Oh, faithless one! The Love that sent...to every tender flower

The north wind's blast, the south wind's bälm, each in the meetest hour;

The pierced Hand that bōre them hōme...sō gently though the dew,

Will tend thee in the wilderness, and bear thee homeward too.

Look up! The portal ōpes for thee-no longer need'st thou roam,

Bright light streams out into the night, kīnd voices greet thee hōme !

And wreathed around thy Father's door...in deathless beauty see

The lilies lost on earth, but bōrne...befōre to welcome thee!

51.—A YOUNG GIRL TO HER LITTLE

BROTHER.

1. My pretty baby-brother is six months old today; and though hẽ cannot speak, hē knōwṣ whate'er I say. Whenever I come near hē crōwṣ for very joy; and dearly do I love him, the därling baby-boy. 2. My brothers cheek is blooming, and his bright laughing eyes...are like the pure spring violets, or the summer's cloudless skies. His mouth is like a rōşe-bud, so delicate and red; and his hair is soft as silk, and curlș âll round his head. 3. When hē laughs, upon his face so many dimples play,...they seem like little sunbeams which o'er his features stray. I am sure wē âll must love him, he is sō füll of glee: just like a ray of sunshine my brother is to mē. 4. When in his pretty cradle he lies in quiet sleep,...'tis joy to be beside him, a faithful wâtch to keep; and when his sleep is over, I love to see him. lie,...and lift the silken fringes that veil his sweet blue eye. 5. Oh! my dear, my baby-brother, our därling and our pet; the very sweetest plaything I ever have had yet. The pretty little creature, hē grows sō every day,...that, when the summer comeș,... in the gärden he will play. 6. How cunning he will look, among the grass and flowers! No blossom iṣ sō fair as this precious one of ours. Every night befōre I sleep, when I kneel to say my prayer,...I ask my heavenly Father of my brother to take care.

66

52. THE SQUIRREL.

The squirrel is happy, the squirrel iş gay,"
Little Henry exclaimed to his brother;
"He has nothing to do or to think of but play,
And to jump from one bough to another."

But William was ōlder and wiṣer, and knew

That all play and no work wouldn't answer,
Sō he asked what the squirrel in winter must do
If he spent âll the summer a dancer.

"The squirrel, dear Harry, is merry and wiṣe,
For trûe wisdom and mîrth gō together;
He lays up in summer his winter supplies,
And then he don't mind the cold weather."

53.-THE BEGGAR MAN.

1. Around the fire, one wintry night, the färmer's rōṣy children sat; the faggot lent its blazing light, and jōkes went round and careless chat. 2. When, härk! a gentle hand they hear, low tapping at the bōlted door; and thus to gain their willing ear, a feeble voice was heard to implōre. 3. "Cōld blōwṣ the blast across the moor; the sleet drives hissing in the wind; ÿon toilsome mountain lies befōre; a dreary treeless waste behind. 4. My eyes are weak and dim with age; nō road, nō path, can I descrỹ; and these poor rags ill stand the rage...of such a keen, inclement sky. 5. So faint I am, these

tottering feet...nō mōre mỹ feeble frame can beār; my sinking heart forgets to beat, and drifting snōwṣ mỹ tomb prepare. 6. Open your hospitable dōor, and shiēld mē from the biting blast; cōld, cōld it blows across the moor, the weary moor that I have passed." 7. With hasty steps the färmer ran...and close beside the fire they place...the poor hälf-frōzen beggar man, with shaking limbs and pallid face. 8. The little children flocking came, and wârmed his stiffening hands in theirs,...and busily the good ōld dāme...a comfortable meal prepareṣ. 9. Their kindness cheered his drooping soul; and slowly down hiṣ wrinkled cheek...the big round tears were seen to rōll, and told the thanks he could not speak. 10. The children, too, began to sigh,...and all their merry chat was o'er; and yet they felt, they knew not why,...mōre glad than they had done befōre.

54.-WE ARE SEVEN.

A simple child,

That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?

I met a little cottage gîrl:

She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That cluster'd round her head.

She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad: