There past are death and all its woes, Farewell, then-for awhile, farewell- It cannot be that long we dwell, Thus torn apart; Time's shadows like the shuttle flee: D. M. Moir. OH each of these young human flowers God's own high message bears; And we are walking all our hours R. Edmonstone. VESPERS. A ROW of little faces in the bed A row of little hands upon the spread; A gentle mother leads them in their praise, F* No lovelier sight this side of heaven is seen, There floats the fragrance of an infant's tongue, CHILDREN'S PRAYERS. ONE night my little girl was wearied with a long walk. As I bade her good-night, I reminded her of one thing to be remembered before she slept. Mamma!" said she, “I am so tired to-night! wouldn't it do if I said, 'Thank you, God!" Still more interesting were those words of the little boy, who, though nearly overcome with weariness, began his usual prayer, but closing his eyes, and nestling his beautiful head on the pillow, murmured half audibly, "He knows the rest." BUT CHILD-SLEEP. JT a child that bids the world good-night Is a cherub no art can copy; T. Hood. EMBLEMATICAL. HE morn is up again; the dewy morn, THE With lips all incense, and with cheek all bloom; And living as if earth contained no tomb. Byron. THE BIRD-CATCHER. I remember well, sitting on the door-step of my father's house, a pinch of salt in my hand, watching with patient faith the blue and white pigeons coming so near, that ever and anon I could almost touch them! GENTLY, gently yet, young stranger, Light of heart and light of heel! Ere the bird perceives its danger, On it slyly steal. Silence !-ah! your scheme is failing No; pursue your pretty prey; Caution! now you're nearer creeping; Nearer yet-how still it seems! Wrapt in forest-dreams! Golden sights that bird is seeing. Nest of green, or mossy bough; How your eyes begin to twinkle! Silence, and you'll scarcely fail. Yes, you have it in your tether, Never more to skim the skies; Hear it-hark! among the bushes, On what captures I've been counting, Thus have children of all ages, Seeing bliss before them fly, Found their hearts but empty cages, Laman Blanchard. LITTLE WILLIE WAKING UP. SOME have thought that in the dawning, In our being's freshest glow, God is nearer little children Than their parents ever know; And that, if you listen sharply, And a sort of mystic wisdom Trickles through their careless speech. How it is I cannot answer, Who, among the thyme and clover, 'Now I'll go to bed, dear mother, And said, gayly, " When it's morning, Down he sank with roguish laughter And the kindly god of slumber Showered the poppies o'er his head. "What could mean his speaking strangely?" Asked his musing mother then"Oh 'twas nothing but his prattle; What can he of Angels ken?" There he lies, how sweet and placid, Like a zephyr moving softly, And his cheek is like a rose; But she leaned her ear to listen If his breathing could be heard: "Oh," she murmured, "if the Angels Took my darling at his word!" |