THE BLIND DEAF-MUTE. Sweet child! so greatly tried and blest, Thou soon wilt lay thy burden down;The rougher road, the happier rest; The heavier cross, the brighter crown. For days of darkness yet to thee Shall everlasting light be given; And the first face that thou shalt see Will be thy Saviour's face in heaven. That fettered tongue, here mute so long, Shall burst its bonds in sudden praise; Its first glad words will be the song [raise. Which round the throne the ransomed From sufferings freed, and free from sin, And in unclouded light to shine,— If faith can such a triumph win, Sweet child, a blessed lot is thine! REV. J. D. BURNS. LITTLE SHOES AND STOCKINGS. LITTLE shoes and stockings! And the tear-wet cheek; And the daily prayer; From the toy-strewn floor. Not the wealth of Indies Could your worth eclipse, Priceless little treasures, Pressed to whitened lips; As the mother nurses, From the world apart, Leaning on the arrow That has pierced her heart. Head of flaxen ringlets; Round her neck at eve;- Of the world of bliss,Let the stricken mother Turn away from this; Bid her dream believing Little feet await, Watching for her passing Through the pearly gate. ANON. THE STAR AND THE CHILD. A MAIDEN walked at eventide Beside a clear and placid stream, And smiled, as in its depths she saw A trembling star's reflected beam. She smiled until the beam was lost, As 'cross the sky a cloud was driven; And then she sighed, and then forgot The star was shining still in heaven. A MOTHER sat beside life's stream, Watching a dying child at dawn, And smiled, as from its eye she caught A hope that it might still live on. She smiled until the eyelids closed, But watched for breath until the even; And then she wept, and then forgot The child was living still in heaven. ANON That Heaven hath sent me strength and And birds sing far and near sweet strains, health, A spirit glad and free: Grateful these blessings to receive, I sing my hymn at morn and eve. On some what floods of riches flow! But fret their hours away. The more they have, they seek increase: Complaints and cravings never cease. A vale of gloom this world they call- And none are grudged a share. Caught up by echoes glad. Rise," sings the lark, your tasks to ply!" The nightingale sings "Lullaby." |