CRADLE SONG.

LEEP, little baby of mine,

SLE

Night and the darkness are near, But Jesus looks down

Through the shadows that frown,
And baby has nothing to fear.

Shut, little sleepy blue eyes;

Dear little head, be at rest ;

Jesus like you,

Was a baby once, too,

And slept on his own mother's breast.

Sleep, little baby of mine,

Soft on your pillow so white;

Jesus is here

To watch over you, dear,

And nothing can harm you to-night.

THE

THE ROCK-A-BY LADY.

HE Rock-a-By Lady from Hushaby Street
Comes stealing; comes creeping;

The poppies they hang from her head to her feet,
And each has a dream that is tiny and fleet -
She bringeth her poppies to you, my sweet,
When she findeth you sleeping!

There is one little dream of a beautiful drum
"Rub-a-dub!" it goeth;

There is one little dream of a big sugarplum,
And, low! thick and fast the other dreams come
Of popguns that bang and tin tops that hum,
And a trumpet that bloweth !

And dollies peep out of those wee little dreams
With laughter and singing;

And boats go a-floating on silvery streams,

And the stars peek-a-boo with their own misty gleams, And up, up, and up, where the Mother Moon beams, The fairies go winging!

Would you dream all these dreams that are tiny and fleet ?
They'll come to you sleeping;

So, shut the two eyes that are weary, my sweet,
For the Rock-a-By Lady from Hushaby Street,
With poppies that hang from her head to her feet,
Comes stealing; comes creeping.

Eugene Field.

From "Love-Songs of Childhood." Copyright 1896, by Charles Scribner's Sons.

AT EVENING.

Another night is given us for rest;

NOTHER day is numbered with the past;

Father, my spirit at Thy feet I cast,
Oh, gather it unto Thy loving breast.

Nightly Thou sendest rest to all the earth,
Sendest a time for silence and returning ;

O Father! teach me all the holy worth

Of the still hours when Thy clear stars are burning.

A

THE LAND OF DREAMS.

HERALD am I from the Land of Dreams,
And I come at my lord's command,
Who bids me proclaim, in his mighty name,

The delights of his shadowy land.

For the Land of Dreams is a beautiful land,
Where trouble is never found,

Where you live at ease, and do as you please,
And pleasure and gladness abound.

There are no schools in the Land of Dreams,
And no dreadful lessons annoy,

With romp and play, through the livelong day,
Will your hearts be filled with joy.

They never say "no" in the Land of Dreams,
'Tis always "certainly" there,

And during your play there is no one to say
"You mustn't do that, my dear."

In the Land of Dreams every boy is a prince,
And a princess every maid,

Who joyously reign, with a fairy train
In rainbow tints arrayed.

Then let us away to the Land of Dreams,
To this beautiful, happy land;

Just close your eyes and soon you will rise
And step on its golden strand.

-H. F. Sargent.

W

A WINTER NIGHT.

THEN biting Boreas, fell and doure," Sharp shivers through the leafless bower; When Phoebus gies a short-lived glower3

Far south the lift,*

Dim-darkening through the flaky shower,
Or whirling drift :

Ae night the storm the steeples rocked,
Poor labor sweet in sleep was locked,
While burns, wi' snawy wreaths up-choked,
Wild-eddying swirl,

Or through the mining outlet bocked,"
Down headlong hurl.

6

Listening the doors and winnocks rattle,

7

I thought me on the ourie cattle,

Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle 8

O' winter war,

And through the drift, deep-lairing sprattle,"

Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing,
That, in the merry months o' spring,
Delighted me to hear thee sing,

What comes o' thee?

Whare wilt thou cower thy chittering wing,
And close thy e'e?

E'en you, on murdering errands toil'd,
Lone from your savage homes exiled,
The blood-stain'd roost, and sheep-cot spoil'd,
My heart forgets,

While pitiless the tempest wild
Sore on you beats.

Now Phoebe, in her midnight reign,
Dark muffled, view'd the dreary plain;
Still crowding thoughts, a pensive train,
Rose in my soul,

When on my ear this plaintive strain,

Slow, solemn, stole :

"Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust!
And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost!
Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows!
Not all your rage, as now united, shows
More hard unkindness, unrelenting,
Vengeful malice unrepenting,

Than heaven-illumined man on brother man bestows!"