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A prattling boy, some four years old,
'Mamma, now you must love me more,
For little sister's dead;
And t'other sister died before,
'Mamma, what made sweet sister die? She loved me when we played: You told me, if I would not cry, You'd show me where she's laid.'
"Tis here, my child, that sister lies,
'Mamma, why cant we take her up,
I'll feed her from my little cup,
'For sister 'll be afraid to lie
In this dark grave to-night, And she'll be very cold, and cry Because there is no light.'
No, sister is not cold, my child,
As He look'd down from Heaven and smil'd,
And then her spirit quickly fled
To God by whom 'twas given; Her body in the ground is dead, But sister lives in Heaven.'
Mamma, wont she be hungry there,
And who will give her clothes to wear,
'Papa must go and carry some,
And he must bring sweet sister home,
'No, my dear child, that cannot be ;
'LET LITTLE CHILDREN COME TO ME,'
And God will give her bread.'
THE SNOW STORM.
THE cold winds swept the mountain's height,
And mid the cheerless hours of night
A mother wander'd with her child: (k) As through the drifting snow she press'd, The babe was sleeping on her breast.
And colder still the winds did blow,
And darker hours of night came on,
And deeper grew the drifting snow:
Her limbs were chill'd, her strength was gone;
'O GOD!' she cried, in accents wild,
If I must perish, save my child!'
She stripp'd her mantle from her breast,
And smil'd to think her babe was warm.
With one cold kiss, one tear she shed,
At dawn a traveller pass'd by,
And saw her 'neath a snowy veil;
The frost of death was in her eye,
Her cheek was cold, and hard, and pale;
He moved the robe from off the child,
THE POOL OF BETHESDA.
UNTO the holy city came
Judea's hapless sons and daughters, The paralytic, blind and lame,
To seek Bethesda's healing waters The Angel o'er the fountain mov'd With kindly power from day to day; And he that first its virtues prov'd,
Was heal'd, and forthwith went his way.
Amid the throng who waited there,-
A patient Hebrew many a year
Had watch'd the troubled waters. And often at the healing hour
He feebly toward the fountain bore him,
But all too late to feel its power,
For one had always stepp'd before him.
A stranger came and look'd awhile
Hebrew, arise and go thy way!'
As forth into the world that hour,
With footsteps light, the Hebrew trod, 'I've felt,' he cried, the Almighty's power, I've heard the voice of God.'
YOUTH AND OLD AGE.
OLD age came down the steep of years,
With tottering steps he feebly trod,
He met with youth ascending.
Ah, whither dost thou bend thy course?'
Said he whose head was hoary –
'I go,' said youth, to yonder heighth, Where through long vistas, glancing bright Are Honor, Wealth, and Glory.
Be not deceived,' old age replied,
In vain will be thy toiling;
I long have chased those beaming joys,
Youth raised his eyes and look'd ahead;
'I must go on, prevent me not,
That promiseth delight.'
With joyous bound, he onward went,
And, hope still sparkling in his eyes,
And struggles up the steep.