« ForrigeFortsæt »
66 And for the fruits and flowers
Which thou hast brought to me, Rich blessing shall be given
A thousand-fold to thee !
“For in the fields of heaven
Thou shalt roam with me at will, And of bright fruits celestial,
Thou shalt have, dear child, thy fill !”
Thus tenderly and kindly
The fair child Jesus spoke ; And, full of careful musings,
The anxious mother woke.
And thus it was accomplished
In a short month and a day, That lovely boy, so gentle,
Upon his deathbed lay.
And thus he spoke in dying:
“O mother dear, I see The beautiful child Jesus
A coming down to me!
" And in his hand he beareth
Bright flowers as white as snow, And red and juicy strawberries,
Dear mother, let me go !
He died, but that fond mother
Her sorrow did restrain,
And she asked him not again !
THE BROKEN DOLL.
An infant is a selfish sprite ;
He laughs, and thinks it a fine joke,
Reproof a parent's province is ;
Only perchance for half a day,
BLINDNESS. - Miss Lamb.
In a stage-coach, where late I chanced to be,
A little, quiet girl my notice caught;
Her mind seemed busy on some childish thought. 1, with an old man's courtesy, addressed
The child, and called her, pretty, dark-eyed maid, And bid her turn those pretty eyes and see The wide-extended prospect.
Sir,” she said, “ I cannot see the prospect, I am blind.”
Never did tongue of child utter a sound So mournful, as her words fell on my ear.
Her mother then related how she found
Her child was sightless. On a fine, bright day
She saw her lay her needlework aside, And, as on such occasions mothers will,
For leaving off her work began to chide.
I cannot work, mamma, now it is night.”
A NEGRO'S SONG.
FROM PARK'S TRAVELS IN AFRICA. VERSIFIED BY THE
DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE.
The loud wind roared, the rain fell fast,
The white man shall our pity share ;
The storm is o'er, the tempest past,
Go, white man, go; but with thee bear
MABEL ON MIDSUMMER DAY.
MABEL ON MIDSUMMER DAY. - Mary Hovoitt.
A STORY OF THE OLDEN TIME.
“ ARISE, my maiden, Mabel,"
The mother said ; “ arise,
Is shining in the skies.
“ Arise, my little maiden,
For thou must speed aways To wait upon thy grandmother
This livelong summer day.
“ And thou must carry with thee
This wheaten cake so fine, This new-made pat of butter,
This little flask of wine.
“ And tell the dear old body,
This day I cannot come,
And he is not come home.
“ And more than this, poor Amy
Upon my knee doth lie;
The little child will die !
“And thou canst help thy grandmother ;
The table thou canst spread ; Canst feed the little dog and bird ;
And thou canst make her bed.