A

A LITTLE MAID'S "AMEN."

RUSTLE of robes as the anthem

Soared gently away on the air— The Sabbath morn's service was over, And briskly I stepped down the stairs; When close, in a half-lighted corner, Where the tall pulpit stairway came down, Asleep crouched a tender, wee maiden, With hair like a shadowy crown.

Quite puzzled was I by the vision,
But gently to wake her I spoke,
When, at the first word, the small damsel
With one little gasp straight awoke.
"What brought you here, fair little angel ?"
She answered with voice like a bell:

"I tum, tos I've dot a sick mamma,

And want 'oo to please pray her well."

"Who told you?" began I; she stopped me; "Don't nobody told me at all, And papa can't see, tos he's cryin'

And 'sides, sir, I isn't so small;

I's been here before with my mamma,

We tummed when you ringed the big bell;

And ev'ry time I's heard you prayin'
For lots of sick folks to dit well."

Together we knelt on the stairway,

As humbly I asked the Great Power

To give back her health to the mother
And banish bereavement's dark hour.
I finished the simple petition,

And paused for a moment—and then,
A sweet little voice at my elbow

Lisped softly, a gentle "Amen!”

Hand in hand, we turned our steps homeward,
The little maid's tongue knew no rest;
She prattled, and mimicked, and caroled-
The shadow was gone from her breast;
And lo! when we reached the fair dwelling-
The nest of my golden-haired waif-
We found that the dearly loved mother
Was passed the dread crisis-and safe.

They listened, amazed at my story,

And wept o'er their darling's strange quest
While the arms of the pale, loving mother
Drew the brave little head to her breast;
With eyes that were brimming and grateful
They thanked me again and again—
Yet I know in my heart that the blessing
Was won by that gentle "Amen!"

GOSPEL EXPOSITOR

BEAUTIFUL GRANDMAMMA.

GRANDMAMMA sits in her quaint arm-chair;

Her

Never was lady more sweet and fair; gray locks ripple like silver shells, And her brow its own calm story tells

Of a gentle life and a peaceful even,
A trust in God and a hope in heaven.

Little girl Mary sits rocking away

In her own low seat, like some winsome fay;
Two doll babies her kisses share,

And another one lies by the side of her chair;
May is fair as the morning dew,

Cheeks of roses and ribbons of blue.

"Say, grandmamma," says the pretty elf,

"Tell me a story about yourself.

When you were little, what did you play?
Were you good or naughty, the whole long day?
Was it hundreds and hundreds of years ago?
And what makes your soft hair as white as snow?

แ Did you have a mamma to hug and kiss?
And a dolly like this, and this, and this?

Did you have a pussy like my little Kate?
Did you go to bed when the clock struck eight?
Did you have long curls and beads like mine,
And a new silk apron, with ribbons fine?"

Grandmamma smiled at the little maid,
And laying aside her knitting, she said:
"Go to my desk, and a red box you'll see;
Carefully lift it, and bring it to me."
So May put her dollies away, and ran,
Saying, "I'll be careful as ever I can."

Then grandmamma opened the box, and lo!
A beautiful child, with throat like snow,

Lips just tinted like pink shells rare,
Eyes of hazel, and golden hair,

Hands all dimpled, and teeth like pearls,
Fairest and sweetest of little girls.

"Oh! who is it?" cried winsome May,
How I wish she was here to-day!
Wouldn't I love her like everything;

66

Say, dear grandmamma, who can she be?"
Darling," said grandmamma, " that child was me.'

May looked long at the dimpled grace,
And then at the saint-like, fair old face;
"How funny," she cried, with a smile and a kiss,
"To have such a dear little grandma as this!
Still," she added, with a smiling zest,
"I think, dear grandma, I like you best."

So May climbed on the silken knee,
And grandina told her her history;
What plays she played, what toys she had,
How at times she was naughty, or good, or sad,

"But the best thing you did," said May, "don't you

see?

Was to grow to a beautiful grandma for me." .

I

TO THE DEPARTED.

KNOW thou hast gone to the place of thy rest,
Then why should my soul be so sad?

I know thou hast gone where the weary are blest,
Where the mourner looks up and is glad.

Where Love casts aside, in the land of its birth,
The stains that it gathered in this,

And Hope, the sweet singer that gladdened the earth,
Sits asleep on the bosom of Bliss.

I know thou hast gone where thy forehead is starred With the beauty that dwelt in thy soul;

Where the light of thy loveliness cannot be marred Nor thy heart be flung back from its goal.

I know thou hast drunk of the Lethe that flows
In a land where they do not forget;
That casts over memory only repose,
And takes from it only regret.

In thy far-away dwelling, wherever it be,
I know thou hast glimpses of mine;
And the Love that made all things as music to me,
I have not yet learned to resign.

In the hush of the night, on the waste of the sea,
Or alone with the breeze on the hill,

I have ever a presence which whispers of thee,
And my spirit lies down and is still.

This eye must be dark which so long has been dim, Ere again it can gaze upon thine;

But my heart has revealings of thee and thy home, In many a token and sign.

I never look up with a vow to the sky,
But a light like thy beauty is there;