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SONGS FOE CHILDHOOD.
They wept, and, turning homeward, cried, " In heaven we all shall meet;"
When in the snow the mother spied The print of Lucy's feet.
Then downward from the steep hill's edge They tracked the footmarks small,
And through the broken hawthorn-hedge, And by the low stone-wall.
And then an open field they crossed� The marks were still the same;
They tracked them on, nor ever lost, And to the bridge they came.
They followed from the snowy bank
Those footmarks, one by one, Into the middle of the plank,
And further there were none!
Yet some maintain that to this day
She is a living child; That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
Upon the lonesome wild.
O'er rough and smooth she trips along,
And never looks behind; And sings a solitary song
That whistles in the wind.
" But, mother, God may do again
What he has done before ; And so, to let the birds fly in,
I will unclose the door." Then little Dirk, in simple faith,
Threw ope the door full wide, So that the radiance of the lamp
Fell on the path outside.
Ere long the burgomaster passed,
And, noticing the light, Paused to inquire why the door
Was open so at night. " My little Dirk has done it, sir,"
The widow, smiling, said, " That ravens might fly in to bring
My hungry children bread."
" Indeed !" the burgomaster cried,
" Then here's a raven, lad ; Come to my home, and you shall see
Where bread may soon be had." Along the street to his own house
He quickly led the boy, And sent him back with food that filled
His humble home with joy.
The supper ended, little Dirk
Went to the open door, Looked up, said, " Many thanks, good Lord!
Then shut it fast once more. For, though no bird had entered in,
He knew that God on high Had hearkened to his mother's prayer,
And sent this full supply.
THE OPEN DOOR.
Within a town of Holland once
A widow dwelt, 'tis said, So poor, alas! her children asked
One night in vain for bread. But this poor woman loved the Lord,
And knew that he was good; So, with her little ones around,
She prayed to him for food.
When prayer was done, her eldest child,
A boy of eight years old, Said softly, " In the Holy Book,
Dear mother, we are told How God, with food by ravens brought,
Supplied his prophet's need." " Yes," answered she; " but that, my son,
Was long ago indeed."
John Gilpin was a citizen
Of credit and renown, A train-band captain eke was he
Of famous London town.
John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear, " Though wedded we have been
These twice ten tedious years, yet we No holiday have seen.