Don't despise him.

DON'T DESPISE HIM.

SE

EE that father tottering, reeling,
Swollen eyes and bloated face;
See that wife before him kneeling,
Bowed in sorrow and disgrace :
Hear her crave that heart unfeeling
For to quit the cursed place.
Hear him mutter oaths and curses
On that noble, faithful soul;
See that fiend his anger nurses
Lurks within the fatal bowl!
Don't despise him, don't despise him;
He was once a noble youth,
She who kneels has ever prized him
Since he gave his plighted truth,
Since before the shrine of Hymen

She embraced the choice of Ruth.
But the Tempter hath allured him,
Ta'en away his spotless name,
With an iron grip secured him,

Left him but a drunkard's shame. See that daughter mourning, crying, Hear her anguish strong and wild: "God of mercy! I am dying

All alone, a drunkard's child." With no one to stand beside her, Father, mother, brother gone, Smallest comforts all denied her, Look ye murderers! now look on! Ye who sell the liquid poison,

Ye who fill the felon's cell,

Ye who starve the drunkard's children,-
Can ye shun the drunkard's Hell?
See the father homeward wending,
Leaning on his trembling wife,
Hear the prayers to heaven ascending
For that poor sick daughter's life:
Hear the drunkard's ravings blending
Oaths and curses, both are rife;
See them now beside her bending,
Hear that mother's rending wail,
For the lovely blighted flower

In death's embraces cold and pale.

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164

The Way to be Happy.

In that hour of keenest sorrow

What could cheer that mother's heart?
No star of hope to light the morrow,
No hand to pluck the piercing dart.
In that hour of gloom and sadness,
Reason claimed her throne once more,
Freed that father from his madness,
Slew the fiend that vexed him sore.
Don't despise him, don't despise him,
Once the scorn of fellow-men;
Don't despise him, don't despise him,
He will be a man again.

THE WAY TO BE HAPPY.

DEAR little girl, called Emily Gray,

Was sitting quite still in the parlour one day:
She did not feel happy, yet she could not tell why,
Nor knew why a tear should escape from her eye.
She heard the sweet birds singing loud in the air,
So blithesome and joyous, so free from all care;
And, turning to gaze to the window to see,
Spied two little wrens in the old poplar tree :
They looked so contented and happy together,
And thankful for getting the warm sunny weather.
Then she said to herself, "'Tis a sweet pretty sight,
But it makes me remember a quarrel last night;
And Harry and I should know better, I'm sure;
But Harry is little-he's only just four,

So to set him a better example I'll try,

And he will know better, perhaps, by-and-bye."

Then she knelt down and earnestly prayed in her heart
That her Father in heaven would pardon impart;

And then by degrees she felt peaceful and glad,
She had found out at last what had made her so sad.
Then she saw Harry's bricks, and thought she would play ;
And so she began; but I'm sorry to say

When some houses she'd built-quite a nice little town-
Master Harry came in, and he knocked them all down!
She forgave him at once, for she thought of last night,
And the sorrow to-day, all caused by that fight.
So she walked away slowly, and left him alone;
Then Harry was sorry for what he had done.
Her sad gentle look had quite made him ashamed;
He felt he was naughty, and much to be blamed,

"Try Again."

165

So he followed and begged her to kiss, and be friends,
And take all the bricks the whole day for amends.
Thus in coming herself to a quieter mind,
She had made little Harry more gentle and kind.

"MAMMY'S GONE A DRINKIN'."
REV. THOMAS JARRATT.

A little child two or three years old, was asked late one night, "Where is your mother?" and this was the sad reply: "Mammy's gone a drinkin."

ALAS! poor child, already called to taste

In earliest years life's bitter cup of woe;
No mother's love; nought but a dreary waste
Will form the deepest memories thou wilt know.
Thy bloom of innocence is soon dispelled;
Thine eyes and ears by sin already stained;
Thy joyous laugh in fear and trembling quelled;
Thy first sweet gush of love at once restrained.
A drunken mother! sad and shameful sight;
Bound by a lust more strong than chains of steel,
Maternal love and infant cries are light,
Against the raging thirst such victims feel.
And is it true that scenes like this are found
In Christian England, freedom's boasted home?
Yes, drunken mothers everywhere abound,
And children worse than motherless do roam.
Oh, Christian mothers! frown the customs down,
Which treat the poisoned chalice as a friend;
The cause of drunkenness-strong drink, disown,
Then shall these shameful sins and sorrows end.

"TRY

"TRY AGAIN."

ELIZABETH P. ROBERTS.

ПRY again!" that simple sentence
Hath a strong and earnest power;

As a household word familiar,

Even from our childhood's hour.

Then, in truth, we might have murmur'd
At the oft repeated strain,

When to master tedious lessons
We were urged to "try again.”
"Try again!" we liked it better
When we found the plan succeed;
Found that winning followed trying,
This was a sufficient meed.
Victory would lose its triumph,
If it were not earned by pain;
And the moral conqueror's watchword
Is the motto “ try again.”

Try again!" faint souls and fearful,
Striving makes the spirit strong;
With the bravest of life's victors,
You will win a place ere long.
"Try again!" bold hearts and fearless,
Shrink not at the passing pain;
You have borne too much already,
Not to trust, and "try again."

"Try again!" from youth to manhood,
From full prime to age's night;

Life in every phase has trials,

Fields to win and foes to fight.
For a time our hearts may falter,
But the onward path is plain;
Disappointment must not daunt us,
Let us hope, and "try again."

BE KIND.

LITTLE children, bright and fair,

Blessed with every needful care,

Always bear this thing in mind:

God commands us to be kind;

Kind not only to our friends,

Them on whom our weal depends;
Kind not only to the poor,
Them who poverty endure;
But, in spite of form or feature,
Kind to every living creature.
Never pain or anguish bring
Even to the smallest thing;
For remember that the fly,
Just as much as you or I,

Follow him home.

Is the work of that great Hand
That hath made the sea and land;
Therefore children, bear in mind
Ever, ever, to "be kind."

FOLLOW HIM HOME.
JOHN HOLLIS.

HE

E'S a jolly good fellow abroad,
And his drunken companions sing-

In merriment he is a king,

And in kindness he is a lord;"

But follow him home.

Why, a greater villain than he

I'm sure you could never discover;
He'd stifle the love of a mother-

A sister he'd sell for a spree.

Oh, follow him home!

He courted a beautiful maiden,

He won her, so bright were his smiles; But now she finds out that his wiles Were all with hypocrisy laden.

Oh, follow him home!

And though he's the father of three
As lovely children as ever
Smiled on a parent, yet never

Has he tossed them once on his knee.
Oh, follow him home!

With their sorrowing mother they languish,
And oh, how their sunken eyes

Tell of the hellish disguise

That fills their bosoms with anguish!

Oh, follow him home!

If ever he comes again

Making fair speeches to you,
Be of the honest few,

And say unto him, like men,
"We'll follow you home."

His wife is broken-hearted,
His children all are dying,

I wish you could hear their crying,

Oh that he and the drink were parted!
Oh, follow him home!