The world is emptied of my child, yet crowded with his loss;
The silence and the vacancy my steps for ever cross;
With every sound of merriment my sorrow is at strife,
And happy infants stare at me like pictures wanting life.

My eye grows greedy of distress;-what healthless looks I meet!

What tear-writ tales of anguish in the harsh unheeding street! Yet while the wasting griefs I trace in other hearts that dwell, The sympathy I fain would give my own heart sootheth well.

Again, to dwarf my woe, I dream of war and shipwreck dire― Of choking pit-of crashing train—of fierce o'ermastering fire; Alas! the thousand frantic ills, which some are doomed to

prove ;

O God! how sweetly died my child 'midst ministries of love!

So gently wail, ye pleasant winds! and weep ye silver showers!
Thou shadow of the cypress tree lie lightly on the flowers!
The summer has its mildews, and the daylight has its clouds,
And some put on their marriage robes, while some are clad in
shrouds.

Thus o'er the gleaming track of life the generations run-
Do they to clodded darkness pass, or to a brighter sun?
Does nothing spiritual ascend? can soul become a sod?
Is man on earth an orphan? is creation void of God?

Is the resplendent cope of night deserted, drear, and dead? Does no great ear lean down to catch the prayers by good men said?

Is groan of murder'd patriot, or shout of martyr'd saint,
As idle as on savage shores the homeless ocean's plaint?

Above the lands that front the sky in the illumined east,
The stars hang low and large like lamps at some immortal feast,
And from those lands so near to heaven have wondrous voices

come

Of God's eternal fatherhood, and man's celestial home.

Q

I marvel, then, dear child of mine! whom 'neath the grass I

laid,

If wing'd and bright, a spirit now, though scarcely purer made, Thou liv'st in His almighty care in mansions of the skies!

Oh say, wilt thou come down to me, or I to thee arise ?

Great mysteries are round thee, child! unknown or dim to

me,

But yet I cannot dread the death made beautiful by thee;
The path thy little feet have trod I may not fear to tread,
And so I follow in the dark, as by an angel led.*

OUR FIRST TAKEN.

REV. WALTER C. SMITH, D.D., GLASGOW.

SIT close beside me, dearest wife;
We are together, if alone;
The dew upon the bloom of life

Is gathered, and the bloom is gone;
And part of us is in the grave,

And part is in the heaven above;

But stronger is the tie we have

In mingled cords of grief and love.

Sit very near, and let me dry

This tear that trickles down thy cheek,
And this that trembles in thine eye;
For it is time that we should speak :
The choking stupor of the hour

Is past, when weeping was relief ;
Now yield thee to a gentler power-
The tender memory of grief.

* Lays of Middle Age, and other Poems. By James Hedderwick. Lon

den and Cambridge: Macmillan & Co.

Let's talk of her-our little one
Who walks above the milky way,
Arrayed in glory like the sun

That lightens the eternal day;
The little gift that we did make

To God, by whom the boon was givenHe wished it, deeming she would take

Our hearts away with her to heaven.

Remember that sweet time when hope
Sat brooding o'er its future joy,
And low, fond laughter wakened up
With bets upon a girl or boy;

And little caps in secret sewn,
Were hid in many a quiet nook :
You knew the secret to be known,
Yet hid them with a guilty look.

Remember all the gush of thought
When first upon your arm she lay,
And all the pain was all forgot,

And all the fears were smiled away;
And looking on her helplessness
Awakened strong resolve in you,
And mother-love, and tender grace;
And all was beautiful and new.

For you were sure, a week before,
That you should never live to see

A baby laughing on the floor,

Or placid lying on the knee,
Or laid on my ungainly hand
That always feared to let her slip,
Or held up, with a fond command,
For pressure of a father's lip.

O sweet bud, flowering dewy bright
To crown our love's rejoicing stem!
O great eyes wondering in their light,
With long dark lashes fringing them!
And over these the forehead broad,

And then her full and parted lips
And rounded chin, meet for a god,
And pink shells on her finger-tips!

Most beautiful her life! and we
Were even too full of happiness :
As dewy flowers hang droopingly,
O'erburdened with the weight of bliss,
And, fearful lest the treasure spill,
Close up their petals to the light,
So we forgot all, good or ill,

To clasp to us that dear delight.

Remember how we noted all

Her little looks and winning ways, And how she let her eyelids fall

As I was wont in wooing days;

And held her little finger up

In curious mimicry of mine;
But when the smile was on her lip,
Lo! all the beaming face was thine.

O say not she was only seen,

Like song-bird lighting on the tree, A moment, while the leaves were green, Filling the boughs with melody, And then, when hope arose serene,

She left us sadder than before;

And better she had never been,

Than leave us stricken to deplore.

And was it nothing then to feel

A mother's love, and do her part, While soft hands o'er the bosom steal,

And soft cheeks press against the heart? Nay, let us kneel together, love,

And bow the head, and kiss the rod; We gave an heir to heaven above,

A child to praise the Christ of God.

He would have infant trebles ringing
The glories of the great I AM;
He would have childish voices singing
The hallelujahs of the Lamb;
And shall we faint in grief's desire
Because this grace to us is given,

To have a babe amid the choir

White-robed around the throne of heaven?

We had a joy unto us given

Transcending any earthly pleasance;
We had a messenger from heaven;
Let us be better for her presence.
Our mother earth where she is laid
Is dearer to my heart for her :
We have such kindred with the dead,
The very grave is lightsomer.*

THE CHILD'S ANGEL.

REV. W. B. ROBERTSON, D.D., IRVINE, AYRSHIRE.

ELDER sister, elder brother,

Come and go around the mother,

As she bids them come and go;

But the babe in her embrace

Rests and gazes on her face,

And is most happy so.

* Good Words, May, 1863: London, A. Strahan & Co.