Though my mother-heart shall ache,
I believe that, for thy sake,
It shall not entirely break.

And I know I yet shall own,
For my seeds of sorrow sown,
Sheaves of joy around thy throne!

GOOD LIFE, LONG LIFE.

N small proportion we just beauties see,

IN

And in short measures life may perfect be.

Ben Jonson.

LITTLE CHILDREN.

SPORTING through the forest wide,
Playing by the water side,
Wandering o'er the heather fells,
Down within the woodland dells,
All among the mountains wild,
Dwelleth many a little child.

In the rich man's house so wide,
By the poor man's snug fireside,
'Mid the mighty, 'mid the mean,
Little children may be seen;
Like the flowers which spring up fair,
Bright and countless everywhere!

In the fair isles of the main,

In the desert's lone domain,

In the savage mountain glen,
'Mong the tribes of swarthy men,
Wheresoe'er a foot hath gone,
Wheresoe'er the sun hath shone
On a league of peopled ground,
Little children may be found!

Blessings on them! they, in me,
Move a kindly sympathy,

With their wishes, hopes, and fears,
With their laughter and their tears,

With their wonders, so intense,
And their small experience.

Little children not alone

On the spacious earth are known,
'Mid its labors and its cares,
'Mid its sufferings and its snares;

Free from sorrow, free from strife,
In the world of love and life,
Where no sinful thing hath trod—
In the presence of our God,
Spotless, blameless, glorified,

Little children there abide!

Mary Howitt,

WHAT THE CHRIST-SPIRIT SAID TO CHILDREN.

LITTLE children, love each other,

Never give another pain;

If your brother speak in anger,

Answer not in wrath again.

Be not selfish to each other,
Never mar another's rest,

Strive to make each other happy,
And you will yourselves be blest.

THE HALLOWED DRAWER.

MRS. BIRD slowly opened the drawer. There were little coats of many a form and pattern, piles of aprons, and rows of small stockings; and even a pair of little shoes, worn and rubbed at the toes, were peeping from the folds of a paper. There was a toy, horse and wagon, a top, a ball—memorials gathered with many a tear, and many a heart-break! She sat down by the drawer, and leaning her head on her hands over it, wept till the tears fell through her fingers into the drawer. And oh, mother that reads this, has there never been in your house a drawer, or a closet, the opening of which has been to you like the opening again of a little grave?

Mrs. H. B. Stowe.

A PICTURE.

OH what a loveliness her eyes

Gather in that one moment's space,
While peeping round the post she spies

Her darling's laughing face!

Oh Mother's love is glorifying,
On the cheek like sunset lying.

Thomas Burbidge.

WE can have many wives, but only one mother.

Turkish Saying.

CHILDREN

CHILDREN.

are what the mothers are,
No fondest father's fondest care
Can fashion so the infant heart,
As those creative beams that dart,
With all their hopes and fears upon
The cradle of a sleeping son.

His startled eyes with wonder see
A father near him on his knee,
Who wishes all the while to trace
The mother in his future face;
But 'tis to her alone uprise

His wakening arms; to her those eyes,

Open with joy and not surprise.

W. S. Landor.

WHO should it be? Where shouldst thou look for kindness?

When we are sick, where can we turn for succour?

When we are wretched where can we complain?
And when the world looks cold and surly on us,

Where can we go to meet a warmer eye
With such sure confidence as to a mother's?

Joanna Baillie.

"A KISS from

my

mother made me a painter."

Benjamin West.

"IF the whole world were put into one scale, and my mother

into the other, the world would kick the beam."
Lord Langdale.

TO A CHILD EMBRACING HIS MOTHER.

OVE thy mother, little one!

Kiss and clasp her neck again—

Hereafter she may have a son

Will kiss and clasp her neck in vain;
Love thy mother, little one!

Gaze upon her living eyes,

And mirror back her love for thee-
Hereafter thou mayst shudder sighs
To meet them when they cannot see,
Gaze upon her living eyes!

Press her lips awhile they glow

With love that they have often told-
Hereafter thou mayst press in woe,

And kiss them till thine own are cold,
Press her lips the while they glow!

Oh, revere her raven hair!

Although it be not silver-gray-
Too early Death, led on by Care,

May snatch save one dear lock away,
O! revere her raven hair!

Pray for her at eve and morn,

That Heaven may long the stroke defer—
For thou mayst live the hour forlorn

When thou wilt ask to die with her,
Pray for her at eve and morn!

Thomas Hood.