I do not think his light-blue eye is, like | I know the angels fold him close beneath his brother's, keen, their glittering wings, Nor his brow so full of childish thought And soothe him with a song that breathes of heaven's divinest things. as his hath ever been; But his little heart's a fountain pure of I know that we shall meet our babe (his kind and tender feeling, mother dear and I) And his every look's a gleam of light, rich Where God for aye shall wipe away all depths of love revealing. tears from every eye. When he walks with me, the country folk, Whate'er befalls his brethren twain, his who pass us in the street, bliss can never cease; Will shout for joy, and bless my boy, he Their lot may here be grief and fear, but looks so mild and sweet. his is certain peace. A playfellow is he to all; and yet, with It may be that the tempter's wiles their cheerful tone, souls from bliss may sever; Will sing his little song of love when left But, if our own poor faith fail not, he to sport alone. must be ours for ever. His presence is like sunshine sent to glad- When we think of what our darling is, den home and hearth, and what we still must beTo comfort us in all our griefs, and sweeten When we muse on that world's perfect all our mirth. bliss and this world's miseryShould he grow up to riper years, God When we groan beneath this load of sin, and feel this grief and pain grant his heart may prove As sweet a home for heavenly grace as now Oh, we'd rather lose our other two than for earthly love; And if, beside his grave, the tears our aching eyes must dim, God comfort us for all the love which we shall lose in him. I have a son, a third sweet son, his age cannot tell, I For they reckon not by years and months where he is gone to dwell. To us, for fourteen anxious months, his infant smiles were given, And then he bade farewell to earth, and went to live in heaven. I cannot tell what form is his, what looks he weareth now, Nor guess how bright a glory crowns his shining seraph brow. The thoughts that fill his sinless soul, the bliss which he doth feel, Are number'd with the secret things which But I know (for God hath told me this) that he is now at rest, Where other blessed infants be-on their I know his spirit feels no more this weary But his sleep is bless'd with endless dreams of joy for ever fresh. have him here again! JOHN MOULTRIE. WE ARE SEVEN. -A SIMPLE child, That lightly draws its breath, I met a little cottage girl; She was eight years old, she said; Her hair was thick with many a curl That cluster'd round her head. She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad: "Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be?" "How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering look'd at me. "And where are they? I pray you tell " She answer'd, "Seven are we; And two of us at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea. "Two of us in the churchyard lie, My sister and my brother; And in the churchyard cottage I "You say that two at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea, Then did the little maid reply: 66 'Seven boys and girls are we; Two of us in the churchyard lie, Beneath the churchyard tree." "You run about, my little maid, Your limbs they are alive; If two are in the churchyard laid, "But they are dead-those two are dead, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. THE MOTHER'S HOPE. Is there, where the winds are singing Forest chirp, and village chime; Is there, of the sounds that float "Their graves are green, they may be Half so sweet, and clear, and wild, seen," The little maid replied, "Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, And they are side by side. "My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hem; "And often after sunset, sir, When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer, And eat my supper there. "The first that died was little Jane; In bed she moaning lay, "So in the churchyard she was laid; And when the grass was dry, Together round her grave we play'd, My brother John and I. As the laughter of a child? Listen ; and be now delighted. Morn hath touch'd her golden strings, Amid countless carollings; There's a sound that's sweeter far- Organ, finer, deeper, clearer, For it answereth his own. "And when the ground was white with But in mine there is a sound snow, And I could run and slide, "How many are you, then," said I, "If they two are in Heaven?" The little maiden did reply, "Oh, master, we are seven !" Ringing on the whole year round; Fondlier form'd to catch the strain- Of the deepest share of pain; UNDER MY WINDOW. Flit to and fro together: There's Bell with her bonnet of satin sheen, Of each glad-hearted rover. Ah! sly little Kate, she steals my roses; And Maud and Bell twine wreaths and posies, As merry as bees in clover. Under my window, under my window, THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD. Now ponder well, you parents deare, These wordes, which I shall write; A doleful story you shall heare, In time brought forth to light: A gentleman of good account In Norfolke dwelt of late, Who did in honor far surmount Most men of his estate. Sore sicke he was, and like to dye, His wife by him as sicke did lye, And both possest one grave. The one a fine and pretty boy, Not passing three yeares olde; As plainlye doth appeare, Three hundred poundes a yeare. And to his little daughter Jane Five hundred poundes in gold, To be paid downe on marriage-day, Which might not be controll'd; But if the children chance to dye Ere they to age should come, Their uncle should possesse their wealth, For so the wille did run. Now, brother, said the dying man, Look to my children deare; Be good unto my boy and girl, No friendes else have they here: To God and you I recommend My children deare this daye; But little while be sure we have Within this world to staye. You must be father and mother both, And uncle all in one; God knowes what will become of them When I am dead and gone. With that bespake their mother deare, Oh brother kinde, quoth shee, You are the man must bring our babes To wealth or miserie: And if you keep them carefully, Then God will you reward; But if you otherwise should deal, God will your deedes regard. With lippes as cold as any stone, They kist their children small : God bless you both, my children deare; With that the teares did fall. These speeches then their brother spake The parents being dead and gone, He bargain'd with two ruffians strong, He would the children send Away then went those pretty babes, They should on cock-horse ride. So that the pretty speeche they had, Full sore did now repent. The other won't agree thereto, The babes did quake for feare! He took the children by the hand, These pretty babes, with hand in hand, Went wandering up and downe, But never more could see the man Approaching from the towne: Their prettye lippes, with black-berries, Were all besmear'd and dyed, And, when they sawe the darksome night, They sat them downe and cry'd. Thus wandered these poor innocents, Did cover them with leaves. And now the heavy wrathe of God Yea, fearfull fiends did haunt his house, His barnes were fir'd, his goodes consum'd, And in a voyage to Portugal Two of his sonnes did dye; He pawn'd and mortgaged all his land The fellowe, that did take in hand These children for to kill, As here hath been display'd: You that executors be made, Of children that be fatherless, AUTHOR UNKNOWN. THE CHILD AND THE MOURNERS. A LITTLE child, beneath a tree, A little song, a pleasant song, There pass'd a lady by the way, She stopp'd and listen'd to the child And saw not, for her own despair, For she but few sad days before And as they stood beneath the tree Death had bow'd the youthful head And these three listen'd to the song, "When the wind blows the blossoms fall; But a good God reigns over all.” The widow's lips impulsive moved; And though the child-if child it were, |