That my heart is ripe for the reaper, Death, And my years are well-nigh told.

I'm old, and I "bide my time,"

But my heart will leap at a scene like this,
And I half renew my prime.

Play on play on! I am with you there,
In the midst of your merry ring;
I can feel the thrill of the daring jump,
And the rush of the breathless swing.

I hide with you in the fragrant hay,
And I whoop the smothered call,
And my feet slip up on the seedy floor,
And I care not for the fall.

I am willing to die when my time shall come, And I shall be glad to go,

For the world, at best, is a weary place,

And my pulse is getting low;

But the grave is dark, and the heart will fail

In treading its gloomy way;

And it wiles my heart from its dreariness,

To see the young so gay.

GONE.

"The good die first."

ANOTHER hand is beckoning on,

Another call is given;

And glows once more with angel steps The path which reaches Heaven.

Our youngest, she whose infant smile
Made brightest summer hours,

Amid the frosts of autumn time
Has left us with the flowers.

No paling of the cheek of bloom
Forewarned us of decay,

No shadow from the silent land,
Fell round our sister's way.

The light of her young life went down
As sinks behind the hill

The glory of a setting star,-
Clear, suddenly, and still.

The blessing of her lovely life

Fell on us like the dew;

And pure thoughts where her footsteps pressed Like fairy blossoms grew.

Sweet promptings unto kindest deeds

Were in her very look:

We read her face as one who reads

A true and holy book.

We miss her in the place of prayer,
And by the hearth's fire-light;

We pause beside her room to hear
Once more her sweet, "Good night."

There seems a shadow in the day
Her smile no longer cheers,

A dimness on the stars of night

Like eyes that look through tears.

Alone unto our Father's will

One thought hath reconciled; That He whose love exceedeth ours Hath taken home his child.

Fold her, O Father! in thine arms

And let her henceforth be

A messenger of love between
Our human hearts and thee.

STAR-CHILD.

IN a pleasant chamber, close beside
A lofty window, deep and wide,
Stood a little bed, in whose bosom deep
A young boy went to his nightly sleep.
The window was as a crystal door,
Opening out on the silent night;

And the radiance of the clear starlight

Lay in white streaks on the chamber floor,

And shone on the pillow and the bed,

And brightened the sleeper's beautiful head.

And all the night, as one by one,

The shining stars went up the sky,

They paused and looked through that window high,

And as each and every star in turn,

Like a crown of silver lustre shone,

Round the head of the boy, more still and deep, More starry and bright, grew his innocent sleep.

One night he awoke; and one star, alone,
Through that lofty casement was shining down;
He gazed, and he gazed, till it grew like an eye,
Placid and clear, in the midnight sky;
Then the boy looked trustfully up, and smiled,
And the star looked brightly back to the child.
The morrow, he went to his pictures and play,
But ever and often he turned him away,

And smiled to his thought, as though a fair dream
Were passing him and his sports between ;

The mother questions him gently the while,

66

'Why does my boy look upward and smile?" "O mother, O mother, I would you might see

The beautiful angel that's watching me!"