But I know that her belief
Is the anodyne of grief,
And will always be a friend
That will keep her to the end.

IV

Just a trifle lonesome she,
Just as poor as poor could be,
But her spirits always rose,
Like the bubbles in the clothes,
And, though widowed and alone,
Cheered her with the monotone
Of a Savior for a friend

Who would keep her to the end.

Ꮴ

I have seen her rub and scrub
On the washboard in the tub,
While the baby sopped in suds,
Rolled and tumbled in the duds;
Or was paddling in the pools,
With old scissors stuck in spools;
She still humming of her Friend
Who would keep her to the end.

VI

Human hopes and human creeds Have their root in human needs, And I should not wish to strip From that washerwoman's lip

Takes too much-something-in her tea."

And Mrs. J.

To Mrs. K.

That night was overheard to say—
She grieved to touch
Upon it much,

But "Mrs. B. took-such and such!"

Then Mrs. K.

Went straight away

And told a friend, the selfsame day,

'Tis sad to think-"

Here came a wink

"That Mrs. B. was fond of drink.”

The friend's disgust

Was such, she must

Inform a lady, "which she nussed,"
That Mrs. B.

At half-past three

Was "that far gone, she couldn't see!"

This lady we

Have mentioned, she

Gave needlework to Mrs. B.,
And at such news

Could scarcely choose

But further needlework refuse.

Then Mrs. B.,

As you'll agree,

Quite properly-she said, said she,

That she would track

The scandal back

To those who made her look so black.
Through Mrs. K.

On too much sugar-which you do!"

Catholic Times.

IT'S A GAY OLD WORLD

It's a gay old world when you're gay
And a glad old world when you're glad;
But whether you play

Or go toiling away

It's a sad old world when you're sad.

It's a grand old world if you're great
And a mean old world if you're small;
It's a world full of hate

For the foolish who prate
Of the uselessness of it all.

It's a beautiful world to see
Or it's dismal in every zone.
The thing it must be
In its gloom or its glee
Depends on yourself alone.

Anon.

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW'S FUNNIEST POEM

Longfellow wrote this funny little poem for Blanch Rosevelt.

There was a little girl, she had a little curl

Right in the middle of her forehead;

And when she was good, she was very, very good, And when she was bad, she was horrid.

A WOMAN'S PRAYER

O Lord, who knowest every need of mine,
Help me to bear each cross and not repine;
Grant me fresh courage every day,

Help me to do my work alway

Without complaint!

O Lord, Thou knowest well how dark the way,
Guide Thou my footsteps, lest they stray;
Give me fresh faith for every hour,
Lest I should ever doubt Thy power
And make complaint!

Give me a heart, O Lord, strong to endure,
Help me to keep it simple, pure,

Make me unselfish, helpful, true
In every act, whate'er I do,

And keep content!

Help me to do my woman's share,
Make me courageous, strong to bear
Sunshine or shadow in my life!

Sustain me in the daily strife
To keep content!

Howe'er it be, it seems to me,
'Tis only noble to be good.

Kind hearts are more than coronets,
And simple faith than Norman blood.

Anon.

Tennyson.