JEWS

MOTHER'S LOVE.

EWS were wrought to cruel madness,
Christians fled in fear and sadness,

Mary stood the cross beside.

At its foot her foot she planted,
By the dreadful scene undaunted,
Till the gentle sufferer died.

Poets oft have sung her story;
Painters decked her brow with glory;
Priests her name have deified;

I HAVE been sitting here for an hour, noting down some

thoughts for the sermon which I hope to write during this week, and to preach next Sunday. I have not been able to think very connectedly, indeed; for two little feet have been pattering round me, two little hands pulling at me occasionally,

and a little voice entreating that I should come and have a race upon the green. Of course I went; for like most men who are not very great or very bad, I have learned, for the sake of the little owner of the hands and the voice, to love every little child. My sermon will be the better for these interruptions. I do not mean to say it will be absolutely good, though it will be as good as I can make it; but it will be better for these races with my little girl.

Boyd.

IN MEMORIAM.

I.

ANOTHER little form asleep,

And a little spirit gone;

Another little voice is hushed,
And a little angel born.
Two little feet are on the way

To the home beyond the skies,

And our hearts are like the void that comes
When a strain of music dies!

II.

A pair of little baby shoes,
And a lock of golden hair;

The toys our little darling loved,

And the dress she used to wear;
The little grave in the shady nook,
Where the flowers love to grow;
And these are all of the little hope
That came three years ago!

III.

The birds will sit on the branch above,

And sing a requiem

To the beautiful little sleeping form
That used to sing to them;
But never again will the little lips
To their songs of love reply,

For that silvery voice is blended with
The minstrelsy on high!

Knickerbocker.

I

A SUNBEAM AND A SHADOW.

HEAR a shout of merriment, a laughing boy I see;

Two little feet the carpet press, and bring the child to me; Two little arms are round my neck, two feet upon my knee; How fall the kisses on my cheek! how sweet they are to me!

That merry shout no more I hear, no laughing child I see; No little arms are round my neck, nor feet upon my knee! No kisses drop upon my cheek; those lips are sealed to me. Dear Lord! how could I give him up to any but to thee! Monthly Religious Magazine.

Ι

A MOTHER'S JOYS.

I'VE gear enough, I've gear enough,
I've bonnie bairnies three;

Their welfare is a mine of wealth,

Their love a crown to me.

The joys, the dear delights they bring,
I'm sure I'd not agree

To change for every worldly good

That could be given to me.

Let others flaunt in fashion's ring,
Seek rank and high degree;

I wish them joy with all my heart,
They're envied not by me.

I would not give those loving looks,
The heaven of those smiles,
To bear the proudest name-to be
The Queen of Britain's isles.

My sons are like their father dear,
And all the neighbors tell

That my young blue-eyed daughter's just
The picture of mysel'.

Oh, blessings on my darlings all!
They're dear as summer's shine,
My heart runs o'er with happiness
To think that they are mine.

At evening, morning, every hour
I've an unchanging prayer,
That Heaven would my bairnies bless,
My hope, my joy, my care.

I've gear enough, I've gear enough,

I've bonnie bairnies three;

Their welfare is a mine of wealth,

Their love a crown to me.

William Ferguson.

THE CHILDREN.

AH! what would the world be to us

If the children were no more?

We should dread the desert behind us
Worse than the dark before.

What the leaves are to the forest,
With light and air for food,
Ere their sweet and tender juices
Have been hardened into wood-

That to the world are children;
Through them it feels the glow
Of a brighter and sunnier climate
Than reaches the trunks below.

H. W. Longfellow.

THE fate of the child is always the work of his mother.

Napoleon.

ANTIPODES.

EVA stood looking at Topsy. There stood the two children,

representatives of the two extremes of society. The fair, high-bred child, with her golden head, her deep eyes, her spiritual, noble brow, and prince-like movements; and her black, keen, subtle, cringing, yet acute neighbor. They stood the representatives of their races. The Saxon, born of ages of cultivation, command, education, physical and moral eminence; the Afric, born of ages of oppression, submission, ignorance, toil, and vice!

H. B. Stowe.