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SONGS FOR CHILDHOOD.
Yet it lies in my little one's cradle, And sits iu my little one's chair,
And the light of the heaven she's gone to Transfigures its golden hair.
Yes, still he's fixed and sleeping!
This silence, too, the while� Its very hush and creeping Seem whispering us a smile. Something divine and dim Seems going by one's ear, Like parting wings of cherubim,
Who say, " We've finished here !"
TO A CHILD DURING SICKNESS.
Sleep breathes at last from out thee,
My little patient boy; And balmy rest about thee Smooths off the day's aunoy.
I sit me down and think Of all thy winning ways, Yet almost wish, with sudden shrink, That I had less to praise.
Thy sidelong pillowed meekness,
Thy thanks to all that aid ; Thy heart, in pain and weakness, Of fancied faults afraid ;
The little trembling hand That wipes thy quiet tears� These, these are things that may demand Dread memories for years.
Sorrows I've had�severe ones�
I will not think of now, Aud calmly, midst my dear ones, Have wasted with dry brow ; But wheu thy fingers press And pat my stooping head, I can not bear the gentleness� The tears are iu their bed.
Ah, first-born of thy mother,
Wheu life and hope were new ; Kind playmate of thy brother, Thy sister, father too ;
My light where'er I go ; My bird, when prisou-bouud ; My haud-in-hand companion� No, My prayers shall hold thee round.
To say " He has departed"�
"His voice"�"his face"�is goue; To feel impatient-hearted, Yet feel we must bear on�
Ah! I could uot endure To whisper of such woe, Unless I felt this sleep insure That it will not be so.
AN ITALIAN LEGEND.
'Twas whispered oue morning iu heaven
How the little child-angel May In the shade of the great white portal
Sat sorrowing night and day ; How she said to the stately warden�
He of the key and bar� " O angel, sweet angel! I pray you,
Set the beautiful gates ajar� Only a little, I pray you,
Set the beautiful gates ajar!
" I can hear my mother weeping;
She is lonely ; she can not see A glimmer of light in the darkness,
Where the gates shut after me. Oh, turu me the key, sweet angel ;
The splendor will shine so far!" But the warden answered, " I dare not
Set the beautiful gates ajar!"
Then rose up Mary the blessed,
Sweet Mary, mother of Christ: Her hand on the band of the angel
She laid, and her touch sufficed; Turned was the key iu the portal,
Fell ringing the golden bar, And, lo! in the little child's fiugers
Stood the beautiful gates ajar! In the little child-angel's fingers
Stood the beautiful gates ajar!
"And this key for further using
To my blessed Son shall be giveu," Said Mary, mother of Jesus,
Tenderest heart in heaven. Now, never a sad-eyed mother
But may catch the glory afar, Since safe in the Lord Christ's bosom
Are the keys of the gates ajar; Close hid in the dear Christ's bosom,
And the gates forever ajar!