"ONLY A BIT OF CHILDHOOD THROWN

AWAY."

WHAT did the baby go for?
Softly the summer night
Fell like a benediction

On the baby, shrouded white.
Only two golden summers!
'Twas not a life, we say,
Only a bit of childhood'
The great God threw away."

Out on the dusky meadow,
Over the slumbering town,
Out of the silent heaven
Brightly the stars looked down.
What did the baby go for?
Flickered the dawning's flame
Into the cottage window,

But never an answer came.

What did the baby go for?
Oh, thou shadow of death!
Oh, thou angel! thou demon
Icy of touch and breath!
We cry to the sunlit heavens,
And no voice answereth.

Will there ever come a morning
When, with our tears all dried,
Resting in fair green pastures
The river of life beside,

We shall know, beyond all doubting,
Just why the baby died?

Ay, give thanks, though we lay
Under the "sod of the valley

The fairest of all away.

.Thank Him for those that leave us,

Thank Him for those that stay.

MAUD MOORE

PART III.

For Christmas Tide.

Ring out, ye crystal spheres,

Once bless our human ears,

If ye have power to touch our senses so; And let your silver chime

Move in melodious time,

And let the bass of heaven's deep organ blow;

And with your ninefold harmony,

Make up full consort to angelic symphony.

MILTON.

IN the rush of the merry morning,
When the red burns through the gray,
And the wintry world lies waiting

For the glory of the day;

Then we hear a fitful rushing
Just without upon the stair,
See two white phantoms coming,
Catch the gleam of sunny hair.

Are they Christmas fairies stealing
Rows of little socks to fill?
Are they angels floating hither

With their message of good-will?
What sweet spell are these elves weaving,
As like larks they chirp and sing?
Are these palms of peace from heaven
That these lovely spirits bring?

Rosy feet upon the threshold,
Eager faces peeping through,
With the first red ray of sunshine,
Chanting cherubs come in view;
Mistletoe and gleaming holly,
Symbols of a blessed day,
In their chubby hands they carry,
Streaming all along the way.

Well we know them, never weary
Of this innocent surprise;
Waiting, watching, listening always
With full hearts and tender eyes,
While our little household angels,
White and golden in the sun,

Greet us with the sweet old welcome, -
"Merry Christmas, every one!"

FAIRY FACES.

OUT of the mists of childhood, Steeped in a golden glory, Come dreamy forms and faces, Snatches of song and story; Whispers of sweet, still faces; Rays of ethereal glimmer, That gleam like sunny heavens, Ne'er to grow colder or dimmer: Now far in the distance, now shining near, Lighting the snows of the shivering year.

Faces there are that tremble,
Bleared with a silent weeping,
Weird in a shadowy sorrow,
As if endless vigil keeping.
Faces of dazzling brightness,
With childlike radiance lighted,
Flashing with many a beauty,

Nor care nor time had blighted.
But o'er them all there's a glamour thrown,
Bright with the dreamy distance alone.

Aglow in the Christmas halo,

Shining with heavenly lustre,

These are the fairy faces

That round the hearthstone cluster.

These the deep, tender records,

Sacred in all their meetness,

That, wakening purest fancies,
Soften us with their sweetness;

As, gathered where flickering fagots burn,
We welcome the holy season's return.

A CHRISTMAS SONG.

THE oak is a strong and stalwart tree,
And it lifts its branches up,
And catches the dew right gallantly
In many a dainty cup;

And the world is brighter and better made
Because of the woodman's stroke,

Descending in sun, or falling in shade,

On the sturdy form of the oak.

But stronger, I ween, in apparel green,
And trappings so fair to see,

With its precious freight for small and great,
Is the beautiful Christmas Tree.