And one by one they'll leave my side,
But she will be my baby still.

And every where, by thee unseen,
That vision followeth every where:
When three are gathered on the green,
I always see another there.

When three around the board are set,
And call on father and on mother,
To mortal eyes but three are met;
But I-but I can see another.

A cherub child, with angel wings,
Is floating o'er me fond and free;
And still that gladsome infant sings,
"Grieve not, dear mother, not for me."

ELEANOR LEE.

The Child and Beath.

"DEAR mother," said a little child,
"I should not like to die,
And lie within the grave, nor see
The sun shine in the sky.

"Oh! is it not a dreadful thought,
When all the earth is bright,
To know that we must go to sleep,
And never see the light?"

"It would be so,” the mother said,
"Were not God's promise given,
That from the dreamless sleep of death
We shall awake in heaven,

"Where shines a brighter sun than this,
Our opening eyes to bless,
That never sets, nor veils His face,
The Sun of Righteousness."

"But does it not seem very sad

To leave the glad young flowers,

That we have loved to look upon
Through all the summer hours?

"When winter comes with threatening clouds,
They droop their heads and die :
Dear mother, do they live again,

And blossom in the sky?"

"Not so, my child. Like us, the flowers
Of earthly dust are made;

But heaven has skies without a cloud,
And flowers that never fade.

"And happy spirits wander there
Through long, unnumbered days,
And join the angels round the throne
In songs of endless praise."

"Dear mother," said the little child, With earnest, thoughtful eye,

And drawing closer to her side, "How I should like to die!"

SUSAN PINDAR.

The Dying Child.

"MOTHER, I'm tired, and I would fain be sleeping; Let me repose upon thy bosom seek;

But promise me that thou wilt leave off weeping,
Because thy tears fall hot upon my cheek.
Here it is cold; the tempest raveth madly:
But in my dreams all is so wondrous bright;
I see the angel children smiling gladly,

When from my weary eyes I shut the light.

66 Mother, one steals beside me now! And listen : Dost thou not hear the music's sweet accord? See how his white wings beautifully glisten!

Surely those wings were given him by our Lord! Green, gold, and red are floating all around me; They are the flowers the angel scattereth : Shall I have also wings whilst life has bound me? Or, mother, are they given alone in death?

"Why dost thou clasp me as if I were going?

Why dost thou press thy cheek thus unto mine? Thy cheek is hot, and still thy tears are flowing: I will, dear mother, will be always thine! Do not sigh thus; it marreth my reposing; And if thou weep, then I must weep with thee. Oh, I am tired; my weary eyes are closing: Look, mother, look! the angel kisseth me!"

FROM THE DANISH OF ANDERSON.

QUIET slumberer! No gleam
Of fretful fancy, thought, or dream,
Passes over Death's calm stream
To thee, Willy.

Though our tears are flowing free,
Though we sorrow sore for thee,
Thou art happier than we
In heaven, Willy.

Stricken from this weary life
Ere the world began its strife,
Or its toils and cares were rife
With thee, Willy;

Time has brought no bitter thing,
Death no terror and no sting;

Angel bands are hovering

O'er thee, Willy.

FROM "CAPRICES."