"Annie, my child, my darling, we must look up to God,

He will smooth the path of suffering when he sees it bravely trod;

We will not now mistrust him, he has never failed

us yet,

And we must trust him, Annie, that he never will

forget."

And the little Annie answered, "Oh mother, mother dear,

My teacher said at Sunday school, that we never need to fear,

For if Jesus is our friend, he will love and help us

too;

And tho' great may be our trouble, he will bring us safely through.

But, mother, when my father was staying with us, then

Baby never cried for hunger, nor you were sad with pain;

But since he's left us, mother, we have a Father

yet;

And as you and teacher told me, we are sure he won't forget."

For these children had a father, but now, some weeks ago,

He had left them almost starving, in the winter's wind and snow,

And now they had not heard of him for many a long, long day,

And these little children's mother was fading fast away;

And Annie watched her trembling, and with loving hands has striven

To keep her mother back on earth; but God called her up to heaven.

In a few more short weeks her happy soul was gone, And those two little ones were left in this wide, wide world alone.

And Annie struggled patiently, and often wonder'd

too,

If her mother saw from heaven, and all their troubles knew ;

She cared for, and loved her little sister dear
And often prayed to Jesus to let her stay down here.

How little Annie managed, it was a wondrous thing; And so the winter passed away, and there came the beauteous spring.

One lovely sabbath morning, according to her rule, Annie had made all ready, and hastened off to school;

Leaving her little sister in some kind neighbour's care,

For she dearly loved her Sunday school, and was never missing there;

In wet and dry, in sun or rain, whate'er might be

the case,

She went off without murmuring, and was always in her place.

Her teacher loved to watch her, as, with her soft

blue eyes,

She listened almost breathlessly, in pleasure or surprise,

To the oft-told tale of Jesus' love, which she always longed to hear,

For it strengthened her for the next week, in all her pain and fear.

Of all that class of children little Annie was the

best,

And perhaps her teacher loved her more almost than the rest;

But after school that morning, when she hastened to her home,

She saw the door was open, so that some one must have come.

She ran in very quickly-a man was sitting there,

Close underneath the window, in her own dear mother's chair;

And quick he turned to her, and said, "Annie child, is it you?

And where's your mother, Annie, and your little sister too?

You don't forget me, darling? 'tis your father you have met;

Go, call your mother, Annie, I am sure she won't forget."

And the little girl she answered, "Oh father! come at last!

We have wanted you so, father, in the days that are gone past!

But my mother you will see no more, for she from here is gone,

And the little babe and Annie are perfectly alone;

But now you're come back, father, we'll have no more need to fear;

Oh father, dearest father, I am so glad you are here!"

And her father clasped her in his arms, and gave her one long kiss

"I little thought, my Annie, I should find my home like this.

I will not leave you more, dear, I will stay and work for you;

Oh, would that your dear mother could see this moment too!"

Her father kept his word; he never left them more, But loved and worked for them, as he'd never done

before;

And Annie thought her mother could see them from on high,

And was always watching o'er them-and was ever very nigh.

The father and his child, they often went to see That gentle mother's lowly grave beneath a churchyard tree.

They often joined in thanksgiving for her who so had striven,

And then they prayed that all of them might surely meet in heaven.

And through Jesus' boundless grace, they'll gain an answer to their prayer,

And the parents and the children will meet together there.

KATIE.

THE STORY OF A CANDLE. SCHOOL hours were over and so was dinner, but the cold fogs of that winter evening were uninviting for out-door play. Besides, everything within looked cosy by contrast: so that it did not require many words to induce Henry and Willie Wright to spend the evening at home instead of trundling their hoops as usual under the shade of the old No. 208. APRIL, 1862.