My heart it sorely tries

To see her kneel, with such a reverent air, Beside her brothers, at their evening prayer;

Or lift those earnest eyes

To watch our lips, as though our words she knew,

Touches all hearts, though I had once the fear

That even her father would not care for her.

Thank God it is not so!

And when his sons are playing merrily,

Then move her own, as she were speaking She comes and leans her head upon his

too.

I've watch'd her looking up

To the bright wonder of a sunset sky,
With such a depth of meaning in her eye,

That I could almost hope

The struggling soul would burst its binding cords,

And the long pent-up thoughts flow forth in words.

The song of bird and bee,

The chorus of the breezes, streams, and

groves,

knee.

Oh, at such times I know,

By his full eye and tones subdued and mild,

How his heart yearns over his silent child.

Not of all gifts bereft,

Even now. How could I say she did not speak?

What real language lights her eye and cheek,

And renders thanks to Him who left Unto her soul yet open, avenues

All the grand music to which Nature For joy to enter, and for love to use!

moves,

Are wasted melody

And God in love doth give

To her; the world of sound a nameless To her defect a beauty of its own:

For in his quite turns siccan questions That I leuch clean outright, for I cou'dna he'll spier! How the moon can stick up in the sky He was sic a conceit-sic an ancient-like

A very summer fragrance was its life; And a back, for its breadth, like the side Its clear eyes soothed me as the blue of

He's just a town's talk; he's a by-ord'nar With unform'd laughter, musically sweet,

That we might commune of our rest in To my dear child and its dead mate then

And I too loved, erewhile, at times to THEY say that God lives very high.
stand
But if you look above the pines
Marking how each the other fondly cher- You cannot see our God; and why?

As if my tender mother laid

On my shut lids her kisses' pressure,

Half waking me at night, and said,

Softly her father stoop'd to lay

His rough hand down in loving way,
When dream or whisper made her stir,

"Who kissed you through the dark, dear Then huskily said John," Not her, not her!"

guesser?"

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

THE SLEEPING BABE.

THE baby wept ;

The mother took it from the nurse's arms, And soothed its griefs, and stilled its vain alarms,

And baby slept.

Again it weeps,

We stopp'd beside the trundle-bed,
And one long ray of lamplight shed
Athwart the boyish faces there,
In sleep so pitiful and fair;

I saw on Jamie's rough, red cheek
A tear undried. Ere John could speak,
"He's but a baby, too," said I,
And kiss'd him as we hurried by.
Pale, patient Robbie's angel face
Still in his sleep bore suffering's trace.
"No, for a thousand crowns, not him!"

And God doth take it from the mother's We whisper'd, while our eyes were dim.

arms,

Poor Dick! bad Dick! our wayward son,

From present pain and future unknown Turbulent, reckless, idle one

harms,

And baby sleeps.

SAMUEL HINDS.

WHICH SHALL IT BE?
"WHICH shall it be? Which shall it be?"
I look'd at John-John look'd at me
(Dear, patient John, who loves me yet
As well as though my locks were jet);
And when I found that I must speak,
My voice seem'd strangely low and weak:
"Tell me again what Robert said."
And then I, listening, bent my head.
"This is his letter: 'I will give

A house and land while you shall live,
If, in return, from out your seven,
One child to me for aye is given.'"
I look'd at John's old garments worn,
I thought of all that John had borne
Of poverty and work and care,
Which I, though willing, could not share;
I thought of seven mouths to feed,
Of seven little children's need,

'Could he be spared? Nay; He who gave
Bids us befriend him to his grave;
Only a mother's heart can be
Patient enough for such as he;
"And so," said John, "I would not dare
To send him from her bedside prayer."
Then stole we softly up above
And knelt by Mary, child of love.
"Perhaps for her 'twould better be,"

I said to John. Quite silently
He lifted up a curl astray

Across her cheek in wilful way,

And shook his head: "Nay, love; not thee,"
The while my heart beat audibly.
Only one more, our eldest lad,
Trusty and truthful, good and glad-
So like his father. "No, John, no-
I cannot, will not, let him go."
And so we wrote, in courteous way,
We could not give one child away;
And afterward toil lighter seem'd,
Thinking of that of which we dream'd,
Happy in truth that not one face

And then of this. "Come, John," said I, We miss'd from its accustom'd place;

"We'll choose among them as they lie

Asleep;" so, walking hand in hand,
Dear John and I survey'd our band.
First to the cradle lightly stepp'd,
Where the new nameless baby slept.
"Shall it be Baby?" whispered John.
I took his hand, and hurried on
To Lily's crib. Her sleeping grasp
Held her old doll within its clasp;
Her dark curls lay like gold alight,
A glory 'gainst the pillow white.

Thankful to work for all the seven,
Trusting the rest to One in heaven.

ETHEL LYNN BEERS.

THE CHILDREN'S HOUR.
BETWEEN the dark and the daylight,

When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day's occupations,

That is known as the Children's Hour.

I hear in the chamber above me
The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
And voices soft and sweet.

From my study I see in the lamplight,
Descending the broad hall stair,
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
And Edith with golden hair.

A whisper, and then a silence:

Yet I know by their merry eyes

They are plotting and planning together
To take me by surprise.

A sudden rush from the stairway,
A sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors left unguarded
They enter my castle wall!

They climb up into my turret

O'er the arms and back of my chair; If I try to escape, they surround me; They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses,

Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!
Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,
Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old moustache as I am

Is not a match for you all?

I have you fast in my fortress,

And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.
And there will I keep you for ever,
Yes, for ever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in dust away!

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

The mitherless bairn gangs to his lane bed;

Nane covers his cauld back or haps his bare head;

His wee hackit heelies are hard as the airn,

An' litheless the lair o' the mitherless bairn.

Aneath his cauld brow siccan dreams hover there

O' hands that wont kindly to kame his dark hair;

But mornin' brings clutches, a' reckless an'

stern,

That lo'e nae the locks o' the mitherless bairn!

Yon sister that sang o'er his saftly-rock'd

bed

Now rests in the mools where her mammie is laid;

The father toils sair their wee bannock to

earn,

An' kens na the wrangs o' his mitherless bairn.

Her spirit, that passed in yon hour o' his birth,

Still watches his wearisome wanderings on earth;

Recording in heaven the blessings they

earn

Wha couthilie deal wi' the mitherless bairn!

Oh, speak him na harshly,-he trembles the while,

He bends to your bidding, and blesses your smile;

In their dark hour o' anguish the heartless shall learn

That God deals the blow for the mitherless bairn!

WILLIAM THOM

THE MITHERLESS BAIRN.

WHEN a' ither bairnies are hush'd to their hame

By aunty, or cousin, or frecky grand-dame, Wha stands last and lanely, an' naebody carin'?

THE ORPHAN BOY'S TALE. STAY, lady, stay, for mercy's sake,

And hear a helpless orphan's tale; Ah, sure my looks must pity wake,"Tis want that makes my cheek so pale;

'T is the puir doited loonie,-the mitherless Yet I was once a mother's pride,

bairn!

And my brave father's hope and joy;