CHILDREN.

BY MRS. E. C. KINNEY.

ITTLE children are the flowers

By life's thorny wayside springingEver to this world of ours

Something fresh and guileless bringing.

They are birds, in whose glad voices
All the dreary winter long
The imprisoned heart rejoices,
As in summer's woodland song.

They are stars, that brightly shining
Through the inner night of sorrow,
Aid the spirit in divining

Something hopeful for the morrow.

They are precious jewels, gleaming
'Mid the cares of manhood's brow-

Woman's bosom more beseeming

Than the diamond's costly glow.