THE cottage was a thatched one,
The outside old and mean;
Yet everything within that cot

Was wondrous neat and clean.

The night was dark and stormy, The wind was howling wild; A patient mother knelt beside The deathbed of her child.

A little worn-out creature-
His once bright eyes grown dim;
He was a collier's only child-

They called him little Jim.

And oh! to see the briny tears

Fast hurrying down her cheek,

As she offered up a prayer in thought-
She was afraid to speak,

Lest she might waken one she loved
Far better than her life;

For there was all a mother's love
In that poor collier's wife.

With hands uplifted, see, she kneels
Beside the suff'rer's bed;

And prays that He will spare her boy,
And take herself instead!

She gets her answer from the child; Soft fell these words from him :"Mother, the angels do so smile,

And beckon little Jim!

I have no pain, dear mother, now, But oh! I am so dry;

Just moisten poor Jim's lips again,
And, mother, don't you cry."

With gentle, trembling haste she held
The tea-cup to his lips;

He smiled, to thank her, as he took
Three little tiny sips.

'Tell father, when he comes from work,
I said good-night to him;
And, mother, now I'll go to sleep:
Alas! poor little Jim!

She saw that he was dying

The child she loved so dear,
Had uttered the last words that she
Might ever hope to hear.

The cottage door was opened,

The collier's step was heard; The mother and the father met,

Yet neither spoke a word!

He knew that all was over

He knew his child was dead; He took the candle in his hand, And walked towards the bed.

His quivering lips gave token

Of grief he'd fain conceal;
And see! his wife has joined him-
The stricken couple kneel!

With hearts bowed down with sadness,
They humbly ask of Him,

In heaven once more to meet again
Their own poor little Jim.

ANON.