Every night when I kiss her,
Tryin' hard not to cry,
She says in a way that kills me- 'Be better in mornin'-bye!'
"She can't get through the night, parson, So I want ye to come an' pray, And talk with mother a little- You'll know jest what to say; Not that the baby needs it,
Not that we make any complaint That God seems to think He's needin' The smile uy the little saint."
I walked along with the Corporal To the door of his humble home, To which the silent messenger
Before me had also come;
And if he had been a titled prince,
I would not have been honored more Than I was with his heartfelt welcome To his lowly cottage door.
Night falls again in the cottage; They move in silence and dread Around the room where the baby Lies panting upon her bed. "Does baby know papa, darling?" As she moves her little face
With answer that shows she knows him; But scarce a visible trace
Of her wonderful infantile beauty
Remains as it was before
The unseen, silent messenger
Had waited at their door.
"Papa-kiss-baby! I's-so-tired!" The man bows low his face, And two swollen hands are lifted In baby's last embrace.
And into her father's grizzled beard The little red fingers cling, While her husky, whispered tenderness Tears from a rock would wring. "Baby-is-80-sick-papa
But-don't-want-you-to-cry;' The little hands fall on the coverlet"Be-better-in-mornin'-bye!"
And night around the baby is falling, Settling down dark and dense; Does God need their darling in Heaven That He must carry her hence? I prayed, with tears in my voice, As the Corporal solemnly knelt, With grief such as never before His great warm heart had felt.
O frivolous men and women!
Do you know that round you and nigh, Alike from the humble and haughty,
Goeth up evermore the cry:
"My child, my precious, my darling!
How can I let you die?"
Oh! hear ye the white lips whisper : "Be-better-in-mornin'-bye!"
REV. LEANDER S. COAN.
ONG-Dong-the bells rang out
Over the housetops; and then a shout Of" Fire!" came echoing up the street, With the sound of eager, hurrying feet. Dong-Dong-the sonorous peal
Came mingled with clatter of engine wheel And whistle shrill, and horse's hoof: And lo! from the summit of yonder roof A flame bursts forth, with a sudden glare. Dong-Dong-on the midnight air
The sound goes ringing out over the town; And hundreds already are hurrying down, Through the narrow streets, with breathless speed, Following whither the engines lead. Dong-Dong-and from windows high
Startled ones peer at the ruddy sky,
And still the warning loud doth swell
From the brazen throat of the iron-tongued bell, Sending a shudder, and sending a start To many a home, and many a heart. Up in yon tenement, where the glare Shines dimly forth on the starlit air
Through dingy windows; where flame and smoke Already begin to singe and choke, See the affrighted ones look out In helpless terror, in horrible doubt, Begging for succor. Now behold
The ladders, by arms so strong and bold,
Are reared; like squirrels the brave men climb To the topmost story. Indeed, 'twere time- "They all are saved!" said a voice below, And a shout of triumph went up. But no-
a Not all-ah! no!"-'twas a mother's shriek; The cry of a woman, agonized, weak,
Yet nerved to strength by her deep woe's power: "Great God, my child !"—even strong men cower 'Neath such a cry. "Oh, save my child!" She screamed in accents, sorrowful, wild. Up the ladders, a dozen men
Rushed in generous rivalry then, Bravely facing a terrible fate. Breathless the crowd below await. See! There's one who has gained the sill Of yonder window. Now, with a will, He bursts the sash with his sturdy blow; And it rattles down on the pave below. Now, he has disappeared from sight- Faces below are ashen and white, In that terrible moment. Then a cry Of joy goes up to the flame-lit sky- Goes up to welcome him back to life. God help him now in his terrible strife. Once more he mounts the giddy sill, Cool and steady and fearless still; Once more he grasps the ladder-see! What is it he holds so tenderly? Thousands of tearful, up-turned eyes Are watching him now; and with eager cries And sobs and cheerings, the air is rent As he slowly retraces the long descent, And the child is saved!
Ah! ye who mourn For chivalry dead, in the days long gone, And prate of the valor of olden time, Remember this deed of love sublime,
And know that knightly deeds, and bold, Are as plentiful now as in days of old.
GEORGE L. CATLIN.
THE doctors say 'tis good for health, To laugh and ha, ha, ha;
So casting nauseous drugs away, We'll take a ha, ha, ha. The panacea's found at last,
A hearty ha, ha, ha;
A universal remedy,
And gratis, too, ha, ha.
Dyspepsia's cure, then sing aloud,
The triumphs of ha ha!
The "Blues" will march off" double quick
At tune of ha, ha, ha.
But oh! if cheerfulness prevail,
And all shall ha, ha, ha; Physicians' bills will be so short, That they won't ha, ha, ha!
But no, the M.D.'s need not fear This general ha, ha, ha; There's many sad, mistaken folks,
Who never will ha, ha.
First, there's morose and gloomy ones,
They will not ha, ha, ha;
"Tis "awful wicked," such a "sin"
They say, to ha, ha, ha.
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