The babe who cannot speak Tempers, to her, his strong caress; Lightly the small soft fingers press

The wan and wearied cheek.

And if in festive hour, beside

The laughing waves and tuneful tide,
Parental eyes for joy grow dim,

What notes may trace the heart's deep hymn,

In silence mingling with the breath

Of child by prayer recall'd from death,
Or with the pulse's healthier chime
In praise melodious keeping time?
O, when its flower seems fain to die,
The full heart grudges smile or sigh
To aught beside, though fair and dear.
Like a bruis'd leaf, at touch of Fear
Its hidden fragrance Love gives out.
Therefore, this one dear couch about

We linger hour by hour:

The love that each to each we bear,
All treasures of endearing care,

Into her lap we pour.

Languor.

Type of that holiest Family,

When smitten souls, at point to die,
Come darkling home, prepar'd to wait
In doubt and dimness by the gate.
Then far along the mournful way
Paternal Love speeds out, to say
The words of welcome; Angels bear

The robe, sweet pledge of pardoning care;

And as he daily seeks aright

His lowly station in their sight,

They watch th' all-ruling Eye, for leave

Some flower of Paradise to give,

Bid amaranth odours round him float,
Or breathe into his ear one note

Of that high loving strain,

Which rings from all the harps of Heaven, When from the Shrine the word is given, "The dead soul lives again."

O, if the Powers and Thrones above
Hover with crowns of joy and love,
Ungrudg'd, unsparing, over brows
That mourn in dust their broken vows,

171

Rather than where the Saints are seen
Each reigning in his place serene :—
If in Love's earthly home and bower
The mournful or the dangerous hour
Unblam'd each prayer and longing guides
To the one couch where Pain abides :-
He who is Love, and owns Love's Name,
Is in His ocean springs the same

As in each little murmuring brook
That cheers soft mead or wayside nook:
Brighter the joy, be sure,

Before Him, where one sinner weeps,
Than where, in Heaven's unchanging deeps,

A thousand orbs endure.

VI.

Children's Sports.

1.

GARDENING.

"He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much."

SEEST thou yon woodland child,

How amid flowerets wild,

Wilder himself, he plies his pleasure-task?

That ring of fragrant ground,

With its low woodbine bound,

He claims; no more, as yet, his little heart need ask.

There learns he flower and weed

To sort with careful heed:

He waits not for the weary noontide hour.

There with the soft night air

Comes his refreshing care:

Each tiny leaf looks up, and thanks him for the shower.

Thus faithful found awhile,

He wins the joyous smile

Of friend or parent; glad and bright is he,

When for his garland gay

He hears the kind voice say,

"Well hast thou wrought, dear boy: the garden thine shall be."

And when long years are flown,

And the proud word, Mine Own, Familiar sounds, what joy in field or bower

To view by Memory's aid

Again that garden glade,

And muse on all the lore there learned in each bright hour!

Is not a life well-spent

A child's play-garden, lent

For Heaven's high trust to train young heart and

limb ?