VIII.

My beauty! my darling! my precious! my prize!

My cherub, my saint, and my sweet!

My child that hast won the bright goal of the skies,

My herald in heaven to meet!

O thanks be to GOD, that His bountiful love
To me the glad blessing hath given,

My babe-to be heir of His glory above,

My daughter-His daughter in Heaven!

Memoriam W. G. T.

little have I known thee, Brother,

prized the riches of thy worth;

sought thee out to cherish thee, y spirit in thy light of love!

I let the world and all its ways, d distance, cares and interests,

poor excuses that we make

mmunion with a brother's heart,

I stood aside, and left such tares p rank, and choke the precious seed!

I let such fogbanks of reserve, louds of undesign'd neglect

my spirit thy most lovely light!

o late-but that we meet again,— its are made perfect; and shall glow

ier fervour in each other's joy;

ur introductory world doth lead

N

To one where all is open, heart with heart Commingling intimately as flame with flame:

Oh, not too late, dear Brother! for my soul Was ever yearning secretly on thee;

Was ever full of thoughts unshown, unspoken,
That from the censer of affection rose

In ceaseless love for thee, my gentle Brother!
For, if an angel ever walk'd this earth
In blessed ministration of all good,

In meekness, patience, purity and truth,

In self-denying, and self-sacrificing,

In holiness and cheerfulness of life,

And all things else of beautiful and kind,
-Alas! we little heeded all thy worth

Till we had lost this angel unawares !

Blindness.

watch those precious eyes,

led diamonds with their sunny light,

from orbs of day to orbs of night,—

arls!-for Providence most wise

creed of thee, my poor pale child;

all see thy face, so soft and mild, nk and sightless to the skies!

ill love thee more, and be more kind,

n heart, and cherish thee in mind; e music shall delight thee much,

mory with her pictures, and Content,o can tell? for we have heard of such,— ay reach thee with her healing touch, ring those eyes again from banishment.

On a Child still-born.

I.

BORN, but to die!-O happier lot than ours,

Born to do battle in this world of strife

With cares and wrongs and wants and woes of life, Guilt that o'erclouds and Evil that o'erpowers

Our threescore years and ten with sorrows rife :

Born, but to die! O favour'd little one,

So soon and easily to overleap

Sin's moat, drawn black all round us broad and deep, And in the glory of a brighter sun

To spring at once to Eden's greenest bowers!

Yes, happy innocent, thy goal is won

Without one effort but that waking sleep,

Winning the race though scarcely well begun,

And ripe for bliss though never taught to weep!