To love when he was slumbering at her side

In his unconscious infancy—

"So still!

'Tis a soft sleep! How beautiful he lies, With his fair forehead, and the rosy veins Playing so freshly in his sunny cheek!

How could they say that he would die! Oh God!

I could not lose him! I have treasured all
His childhood in my heart, and even now,
As he has slept, my memory has been there,
Counting like treasure all his winning ways-
His unforgotten sweetness:-

"Yet so still !—

How like this breathless slumber is to death!

I could believe that in that bosom now

There were no pulse-it beats so languidly!

I cannot see it stir; but his red lip!

Death would not be so very beautiful!

And that half smile-would death have left that there?

-And should I not have felt that he would die?

And have I not wept over him?—and prayed

Morning and night for him?-and could he die?
-No-God will keep him! He will be my pride

Many long years to come, and this fair hair
Will darken like his father's, and his eye

Be of a deeper blue when he is grown ;

And he will be so tall, and I shall look
With such a pride upon him!-He to die!"
And the fond mother lifted his soft curls,

And smiled, as if 'twere mockery to think
That such fair things could perish-

-Suddenly

Her hand shrunk from him, and the colour fled

From her fix'd lip, and her supporting knees

Were shook beneath her child. Her hand had touch'd

His forehead, as she dallied with his hair—
And it was cold-like clay! Slow, very slow,
Came the misgiving that her child was dead.
She sat a moment, and her eyes were clos'd
In a dumb prayer for strength, and then she took
His little hand and press'd it earnestly-

And put her lip to his-and look'd again

N

Fearfully on him—and then, bending low,

She whisper'd in his ear, " My son !-My son !"
And as the echo died, and not a sound

Broke on the stillness, and he lay there still
Motionless on her knee-the truth would come!
And with a sharp, quick cry, as if her heart
Were crush'd, she lifted him and held him close
Into her bosom-with a mother's thought-
As if death had no power to touch him there!

The man of God came forth, and led the child
Unto his mother, and went on his way.
And he was there-her beautiful-her own-
Living and smiling on her with his arms
Folded about her neck, and his warm breath
Breathing upon her lips, and in her ear

The music of his gentle voice once more!

ABSALOM.

THE waters slept. Night's silvery veil hung low

On Jordan's bosom, and the eddies curled

Their glassy rings beneath it, like the still,

Unbroken beating of the sleeper's pulse.

The reeds bent down the stream; the willow leaves,
With a soft cheek upon the lulling tide,

Forgot the lifting winds; and the long stems,
Whose flowers the water, like a gentle nurse,
Bears on its bosom, quietly gave way,
And leaned, in graceful attitudes, to rest.
How strikingly the course of nature tells,
By its light heed of human suffering,
That it was fashioned for a happier world!

King David's limbs were weary. He had fled

From far Jerusalem; and now he stood,

With his faint people, for a little rest
Upon the shore of Jordan. The light wind
Of morn was stirring, and he bared his brow
To its refreshing breath; for he had worn
The mourner's covering, and he had not felt
That he could see his people until now.

They gather'd round him on the fresh green bank,
And spoke their kindly words; and, as the sun
Rose up in heaven, he knelt among them there,
And bowed his head upon his hands to pray.
Oh! when the heart is full-when bitter thoughts
Come crowding thickly up for utterance,

And the poor common words of courtesy
Are such a very mockery-how much
The bursting heart may pour itself in prayer!
He pray'd for Israel—and his voice went up
Strongly and fervently. He pray'd for those
Whose love had been his shield—and his deep tones
Grew tremulous. But, oh! for Absalom-