Oh, the day when thou goest a-wooing,
Philip, my King!

When those beautiful lips are suing,
And, some gentle heart's bars undoing,
Thou dost enter, love-crowned, and there
Sittest all glorified! - Rule kindly,
Tenderly, over thy kingdom fair;

For we that love, ah! we love so blindly,
Philip, my King!

I gaze from thy sweet mouth up to thy brow,
Philip, my King!

Aye, there lies the spirit, all sleeping now,

That

may rise like a giant, and make men bow As to one God-throned amidst his peers.

My Saul, than thy brethren higher and fairer,
Let me behold thee in coming years!

Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer,
Philip, my King-

A wreath, not of gold, but palm! One day,
Philip, my King!

Thou too must tread, as we tread, a way
Thorny, and bitter, and cold, and gray;
Rebels within thee, and foes without
Will snatch at thy crown ; but go on, glorious
Martyr, yet monarch! till angels shout,
As thou sittest at the feet of God victorious,
"Philip, the King!"

Author of "John Halifax."

A MOTHER'S EXCUSE.

Ir comes again, the blessed day,

Made glorious by the Saviour's birth, When faintly in a manger dawned

The light of God which fills the earth.

Along a weary, wintry waste,
My heart a loving pilgrim wends
Her pious way, this holy time,
To greet you, O beloved friends!

Fondly I long to take my place
Beside your hearth, its joys to share,-
To sun me in the summer smiles
Of the dear faces gathered there.

But baby eyes upraised to mine,
And baby fingers on my breast,
Steep all my soul in sweet content,
Charm even such longings into rest.

Yet, dear ones, let my name be breathed
Kindly around your Christmas-tree,

And the still presence of a soul

Make welcome in the place of me.

No unadorned and humble guest

Comes that fond soul this blessed even,

She bears a jewel on her breast

The fairest of the gifts of heaven.

A rose that breathes of Paradise,

Just budded from the life divine,

A little, tender, smiling babe,

As yet more God's and heaven's than mine!

Born in the Saviour's hallowed month,
A blessed Christ-child may she be,
A little maiden of the Lord;-

Room for her by the Christmas-tree!

- Grace Greenwood.

CHRIST AND THE LITTLE ONES.

"THE Master has come over Jordan," Said Hannah the mother one day;

"He is healing the people who throng Him, With a touch of His finger, they say.

"And now I shall carry the children,
Little Rachel and Samuel and John,

I shall carry the baby, Esther,
For the Lord to look upon."

The father looked at her kindly,
But he shook his head and smiled :
"Now who but a doting mother
Would think of a thing so wild?

"If the children were tortured by demons,
Or dying of fever, 'twere well;
Or had they the taint of the leper,
Like many in Israel."

"Nay, do not hinder me, Nathan,
I feel such a burden of care,

If I carry it to the Master,
Perhaps I shall leave it there.

"If He lay His hand on the children

My heart will be lighter, I know,

For a blessing for ever and ever
Will follow them as they go."

So over the hills of Judah,

Along by the vine-rows green, With Esther asleep on her bosom,

And Rachel her brothers between ;

'Mid the people who hung on His teaching, Or waited His touch and His word,

Through the row of proud Pharisees listening
She pressed to the feet of the Lord.

"Now why shouldst thou hinder the Master,"
Said Peter, "with children like these?
Seest not how from morning to evening
He teacheth and healeth disease?"

Then Christ said, "Forbid not the children,
Permit them to come unto me!"

And He took in His arms little Esther
And Rachel He set on His knee;

And the heavy heart of the mother
Was lifted all earth-care above,
As He laid His hand on the brothers,
And blest them with tenderest love;

As He said of the babes in His bosom,
"Of such are the kingdom of heaven ".
And strength for all duty and tria,
That hour to her spirit were given.

- Julia Gill.

SLEEP, baby, sleep!

Thy father watches his sheep;

Thy mother is shaking the dreamland tree, And down comes a little dream on thee.

Sleep, baby, sleep!

Sleep, baby, sleep!

The large stars are the sheep;