THE VACANT CHAIR.

Thee need not close the shutters yet; and, David, if thee will,

I've something I would say to thee, while all the house is

still,

Thee knows 'tis easier to talk in this calm, quiet light,

Of things that in our busy days we hide away from sight.

And home is wondrous sweet to me, this simple home of

ours,

As well I know it is to thee, in all these twilight hours; But, since the shadow on it fell, does it appear to thee They are more sacred than of old, for so it seems to me?

And, David, since beside our board has stood Ruth's vacant

chair,

I never yet have clasped my hands and bowed my head in

prayer

But I have felt the yearning strong to see the vanished face, And, scarce, I fear, with thankfulness have joined the silent

grace.

While often, at the evening meal, with all our children round,

I still have pictured to myself a low and silent mound,
Blue with the early violets or white with winter snow,
And felt a tender pity for the form there lying low.

Though morning may have cast a halo round the vacant chair,

The sunlight only threw for me a silent shadow there.
And, David, I have watched the stars when thee has been

asleep;

For well thee knows I could not bear to have thee see me weep.

And yet I never have rebelled,--thee knows I speak the truth,-

Though some have said I grieve too much for our sweet daughter Ruth.

But, with the strongest yearning, I can always look above, And feel the Father does not chide the changeless human

love.

I cannot put it into words, I know I need not try;

For thee has understood it all,-borne with me patiently.

Thy cares and duties, it is true, are heavier than mine,
But of their deeper feelings men make slight outward sign.
And, David, thee has sometimes thought it strange that I
should care

To wreathe with flowers and evergreens our daughter's vacant chair.

Yet I so long to keep her gentle memory green and sweet
For all the children, though her name I seldom now repeat.

I cannot seem to speak it with a quiet, restful tone,
Though often, in their thoughtless way, they name the ab-

sent one;

And yet this morn I tried to tell them in a gentle way Ruth would have counted eighteen years, had she been here to-day,

This bright Thanksgiving day; and then, to me all unaware, The children placed beside our board our daughter's vacant chair,

And now thee sees it, twined with flowers, stand in the moonlight clear;

David, I could not draw it back, but left it standing there.

And it was strange, but, as I bowed my head in silent grace,
I saw our daughter sitting in her old accustomed place :
I did not start nor speak, but only felt a glad surprise
To see how wondrous fair she was in all her angel guise.

Her face was glad and glorified, as if the joy of heaven
An added charm to that sweet smile we loved below had

given.

I know 'twas but a passing fancy filled the vacant chair, For, when I turned, a ray of sunshine seemed to linger there.

But, David, in my heart I've kept that vision all day long, While it has seemed to lift me up and make my faith more

strong.

For I have felt through all, in some mysterious way,

Ruth's silent presence may have filled her vacant chair to

day.

And though I thought this early morn I never more could know

A truly thankful heart for all my blessings here below, Since in our home the vacant chair stood ever in my sight, Yet, David, that was wrong I know, I see it all to-night.

And I shall try to picture Ruth amid the angels now,
Not lying in that silent mound beneath the rain and snow,
As I perhaps too oft have done on winter nights of storm,
When all the others gathered round the fire so flushed and

warm.

And well I know one thought alone should make me reconciled,

That I may always call my own this sweet, pure, angel child.

And, David, if thee will, I yet would twine the vacant chair, To keep the vision that I saw to-day still sweet and fair.

ADDRESS TO THE SUN.-OSSIAN.

O thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers! Whence are thy beams, O sun, thy everlasting light? Thou comest forth in thy awful beauty,-the stars hide themselves in the sky; the moon, cold, and pale, sinks in the western wave. But thou thyself movest alone, who can be a companion of thy course?

The oaks of the mountains fall; the mountains themselves decay with years; the ocean shrinks, and grows again; the moon herself is lost in heaven; but thou art forever the same, rejoicing in the brightness of thy course.

When the world is dark with tempests, when thunder rolls, and lightning flies, thou lookest in thy beauty from the clouds, and laughest at the storm. But, to Ossian, thou lookest in vain; for he beholds thy beams no more, whether thy yellow hairs flow on the eastern clouds, or thou tremblest at the gates of the west.

But thou art perhaps like me-for a season: thy years will have an end. Thou shalt sleep in the clouds, careless of the voice of the morning. Exult, then, O sun, in the strength of thy youth! Age is dark, and unlovely: it is like the glimmering light of the moon, when it shines through broken clouds; when the mist is on the hills, the blast of the north is on the plain, the traveler shrinks in the midst of his journey.

"DON'D FEEL TOO BIG!"-C. F. ADAMS.

A frog vas a-singing von day, in der brook

(Id vas beddher, mine friends, you don'd feel too big!), Und he shveleed mit pride, und he say, "Shust look, Don'd I sing dose peautiful songs like a book?"

(Id vas beddher, mine friends, you don'd feel too big!)

A fish came a-shvimming along dot vay

(Id vas beddher, mine friends, you don'd feel too big!), "I'll take you oudt off der vet," he say;

Und der leedle froggie vas shtowed avay.

(Id vas beddher, mine friends, you don'd feel too big!)

A hawk flew down, und der fish dook in

(Id vas beddher, mine friends, you don'd feel too big!), Und der hawk he dink dot der shmardest vin Ven he shtuck his claws in dot fish's shkin.

(Id vas beddher, mine friends, you don'd feel too big!)

A hunter vas oudt mit his gun aroundt

(Id vas beddher, mine friends, you don'd feel too big!) Und he say, ven der hawk vas brought to der groundt, Und der fish und der leedle frog vas foundt,

"Id vas beddher, mine friends, you don'd feel too big!"

THE OPEN DOOR.

Within a town of Holland once
A widow dwelt, 'tis said,
So poor, alas, her children asked
One night in vain for bread.
But this poor woman loved the Lord,
And knew that he was good;

So, with her little ones around,

She prayed to him for food.

When prayer was done, her oldest child,
A boy of eight years old,

Said, softly, "In the holy book,

Dear mother, we are told

How God, with food by ravens brought,
Supplied his prophet's need."

"Yes," answered she, "but that, my son,
Was long ago, indeed."

"But, mother, God may do again
What he has done before,
And so, to let the birds fly in,
I will unclose the door."
Then little Dick, in simple faith,
Threw ope the door full wide,
So that the radiance of the lamp
Fell on the path outside.
Ere long the burgomaster passed,
And, noticing the light,
Paused to inquire why the door
Was open so at night.

"My little Dick has done it, sir,"
The widow, smiling, said,
"That ravens might fly in to bring
My hungry children bread."
"Indeed," the burgomaster cried,
"Then here's a raven, lad;
Come to my house, and you shall see
Where bread may soon be had."
Along the street to his own house

He quickly led the boy,

And sent him back with food that filled
His humble home with joy.

The supper ended, little Dick

Went to the open door,

A

Looked up, said, "Many thanks, good Lord,"
Then shut it fast once more.

For though no bird had entered in,
He knew that God on high

Had hearkened to his mother's prayer,
And sent this full supply.

LASCA.-F. DESPREZ.

I want free life and I want fresh air;
And I sigh for the canter after the cattle,
The crack of the whips like shots in battle,
The mellay of horns, and hoofs, and heads

That wars, and wrangles, and scatters, and spreads;
The green beneath and the blue above,

And dash and danger, and life and love.