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But that which others most admire, is the

thought which fills his mind, The food for grave inquiring speech, he every

where doth find. Strange questions doth he ask of me, when we

together walk; He scarcely thinks as children think, or talks

as children talk. Nor cares he much for childish sports, dotes

not on bat or ball, But looks on manhood's ways and works, and

aptly mimics all. His little heart is busy still, and oftentimes

perplext, With thoughts about this world of ours, and

thoughts about the next. He kneels at his dear mother's knee, she

teacheth him to pray, And strange, and sweet, and solemn then, are

the words which he will say. Oh, should my gentle child be spared, to man

hood's years like me, A holier and a wiser man, I trust that he will be ; And when I look into his eyes, and stroke his

thoughtful brow, I dare not think what I should feel, were I to

lose him now.

I have a son, a second son, a simple child of

three ;

I'll not declare how bright and fair his little

features be, How silvery sweet those tones of his, when he

prattles on my knee : I do not think his light blue eye, is like his

brother's keen, Nor his brow so full of childish thought, as his

hath ever been ; But his little heart's a fountain pure, of kind

and tender feeling, And his every look's a gleam of light, rich

depths of love revealing. When he walks with me, the country folk, who

pass us in the street, Will speak their joy, and bless my boy, he

looks so mild and sweet. A playfellow is he to all, and yet, with cheerful

tone, Will sing his little song of love, when left to

sport alone.

His presence is like sunshine, sent to gladden

home and hearth, To comfort us in all our griefs, and sweeten

all our mirth.

Should he grow up to riper years, God grant

his heart may prove, As sweet a home for heavenly grace, as now

for earthly love : And if, beside his grave, the tears our aching

eyes must dim, God comfort us for all the love which we shall

lose in him.

I have a son, a third sweet son ; his age I

cannot tell, For they reckon not by years and months where

he is gone to dwell. To us for fourteen anxious months his infant

smiles were given, And then he bade farewell to Earth, and went

to live in Heaven. I cannot tell what form is his, what looks he

weareth now,

Nor guess how bright a glory crowns his

shining seraph brow. The thoughts that fill his sinless soul, the bliss

which he doth feel, Are numbered with the secret things which

God will not reveal.

But I know (for God hath told me this) that

he is now at rest, Where other blessed infants be, on their

Saviour's. loving breast. I know his spirit feels no more this weary load

of flesh, But his sleep is bless’d with endless dreams of

joy for ever fresh. I know the angels fold him close beneath their

glittering wings, And soothe him with a song that breathes of

Heaven's divinest things. I know that we shall meet our babe, (his

mother dear and I,) Where God for aye shall wipe away all tears

from every eye. Whate'er befalls his brethren twain, his bliss

can never cease ; Their lot may here be grief and fear, but his

is certain peace. It may be that the tempter's wiles their souls

from bliss may sever, But, if our own poor faith fail not, he must be

ours for ever. When we think of what our darling is, and

what we still must be ;

When we muse on that world's perfect bliss,

and this world's misery; When we groan beneath this load of sin, and

feel this grief and pain.; Oh! we'd rather lose our other two, than have him here again.

J. MOULTRIE.

GENTLE WORDS.

A young rose in the summer time

beautiful to me,
And glorious the many stars

That glitter in the sea ;
But gentle words and loving smiles,

And hands to clasp my own,
Are better than the brightest flowers

Or stars that ever shone.

The sun may warm the grass to life,

The dew the drooping flower,
And eyes grow bright that watch the light

Of Autumn's opening hour ;

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