Let the stricken mother
Turn away from this;
Bid her dream believing
Little feet await,

Watching for her passing

Through the pearly gate.

ANON.

THE STAR AND THE CHILD.

A MAIDEN walked at eventide
Beside a clear and placid stream,
And smiled, as in its depths she saw
A trembling star's reflected beam.

She smiled until the beam was lost,

As 'cross the sky a cloud was driven; And then she sighed, and then forgot The star was shining still in heaven.

A MOTHER sat beside life's stream,
Watching a dying child at dawn,
And smiled, as from its eyes she caught
A hope that it might still live on.

She smiled until the eyelids closed,
But watched for breath until the even;

And then she wept, and then forgot
The child was living still in heaven.

ANON.

THY WILL BE DONE.

FATHER, I know that all my life
Is portioned out for me,

And the changes that are sure to come

I do not fear to see;

But I ask Thee for a present mind,

Intent on pleasing Thee.

I ask Thee for a thoughtful love,
Through constant watching wise,
To meet the glad with joyful smiles
And wipe the weeping eyes;
And a heart at leisure from itself,
To soothe and sympathize.

I would not have the restless will
That hurries to and fro;
Seeking for some great thing to do,
A secret thing to know:

I would be treated as a child,
And guided where I go.

Wherever in the world I am,
In whatsoe'er estate,

I have a fellowship with hearts
To keep and cultivate,

And a work of lowly love to do,

For the Lord on whom I wait.

And if some things I do not ask
In my cup of blessing be,

I would have my spirit filled the more
With grateful love to Thee;
More careful, not to serve Thee much,
But to please Thee perfectly.

There are briers besetting every path,

That call for patient care;

There is a cross in every lot,

And an earnest need for prayer;
But a lowly heart that leans on Thee,
Is happy anywhere.

In a service which Thy will appoints,
There are no bonds for me;

For my inmost heart is taught the truth
That makes Thy children free;

And a life of self-renouncing love

Is a life of liberty.

A. L. WARING.

THE CONTENTED MAN.

WHY need I strive and sigh for wealth?

It is enough for me

That Heaven hath sent me strength and health, A spirit glad and free:

Grateful these blessings to receive,

I sing my hymn at morn and eve.

On some what floods of riches flow!

House, herds, and gold have they ;
Yet life's best joys they never know,
But fret their hours away.

The more they have, they seek increase:
Complaints and cravings never cease.

A vale of gloom this world they call-
But, oh! I find it fair:

Much happiness it has for all,

And none are grudged a share. The little birds, on new-tried wing, And insects revel in the spring.

For love of us, hills, woods, and plains

In beauteous hues are clad;

And birds sing far and near sweet strains,
Caught up by echoes glad.

66

"Rise," sings the lark, your tasks to ply!" The nightingale sings "Lullaby."

And when the obedient sun goes forth
And all like gold appears,

When bloom o'erspreads the glowing earth
And fields have ripening ears,

I think those glories that I see
My kind Creator made for me.

Then loud I thank the Lord above,
And say, in joyful mood,

His love, it is a Father's love-
He wills to all men good.
Then let me ever grateful live,
Enjoying all he deigns to give.

JOHANN MILLER.

THE FALLEN LEAVES.

We stand among the fallen leaves,
Young children at our play,
And laugh to see the yellow things
Go rustling on their way:
Right merrily we hunt them down,
The autumn winds and we,
Nor pause to gaze where snow-drifts lie,
Or sunbeams gild the tree :
With dancing feet we leap along

Where withered boughs are strown;
Nor past nor future checks our song
The present is our own.

We stand among the fallen leaves

In youth's enchanted springWhen Hope (who wearies at the last) First spreads her eagle wing, We tread with steps of conscious strength

Beneath the leafless trees,

And the colour kindles in our check
As blows the winter breeze;

While, gazing towards the cold gray sky,
Clouded with snow and rain,

We wish the old year all passed by,
And the young spring come again.

We stand among the fallen leaves
In manhood's haughty prime-
When first our pausing hearts begin
To love "the olden time;"
And, as we gaze, we sigh to think
How many a year hath passed

Since 'neath those cold and faded trees
Our footsteps wandered last;
And old companions-now perchance
Estranged, forgot, or dead—

Come round us, as those autumn leaves
Are crushed beneath our tread.

We stand among the fallen leaves
In our own autumn day;
And, tottering on with feeble steps,
Pursue our cheerless way.
We look not back-too long ago
Hath all we loved been lost;
Nor forward-for we may not live
To see our new hope crossed:
But on we go-the sun's faint beam
A feeble warmth imparts;
Childhood without its joy returns-
The present fills our hearts!

HON. MRS. NORTON.

MY MOTHER'S BIBLE.

THIS Book is all that's left me now!-
Tears will unbidden start-

With faltering lip and throbbing brow

I

press it to my heart.

For many generations past,

Here is our family tree:

My mother's hands this Bible clasped;

She, dying, gave it me.

Ah! well do I remember those

Whose names these records bear, Who round the hearth-stone used to close After the evening prayer,

And speak of what these pages said,

In tones my heart would thrill!— Though they are with the silent dead, Here are they living still!