18

Mother-Song.

Up spoke our own little Mabel,

Saying, "Father, who makes it snow ?" And I told of the good All-father

Who cares for us here below.

Again I looked at the snow-fall,

And thought of the leaden sky That arched o'er our first great sorrow, When that mound was heaped so high.

I remember the gradual patience

That fell from that cloud like snow, Flake by flake, healing and hiding

The scar of our deep-plunged woe.

And again to the child I whispered,

'The snow that husheth all,

Darling, the merciful Father

Alone can make it fall!"

Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her;
And she, kissing back, could not know
That my kiss was given to her sister,
Folded close under deepening snow.

JAMES RUSSEll Lowell.

A CHILD'S SMILE.

A CHILD'S smile,—nothing more;
Quiet, and soft, and grave and seldom seen;
Like summer lightning o'er,
Leaving the little face again serene.

I think, boy well-beloved,

Thine angel, who did grieve to see how far
Thy childhood is removed

From sports that dear to other children are,

On this pale cheek has thrown

The brightness of his countenance, and made
A beauty like his own-

That, while we see it, we are half afraid,

And marvel, will it stay?

Or, long ere manhood, will that angel fair,

Departing some sad day,

Steal the child-smile and leave the shadow care?

Nay, fear not. As it is given

Unto this child the father watching o'er,

His angel up in heaven

Beholds our Father's face forevermore,

20

Mother-Song.

And he will help him bear

His burden, as his father helps him now;

So may he come to wear

That happy child-smile on an old man's brow.

DINAH MULOCK CRAIK.

THE WAY THE BABY SLEPT.

AND this is the way the baby slept;

A mist of tresses backward thrown
By quavering sighs where kisses crept
With yearnings she had never known;
The little hands were closely kept
About a lily newly blown-

And God was with her. And we wept-
And this is the way the baby slept.

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY.

From "Rhymes of Childhood."

THE BOWEN-MERRILL COMPANY.

CRADLE SONG.

SLEEP, baby, sleep!

Thy father's watching the sheep!
Thy mother's shaking the dreamland tree,
And down drops a little dream for thee.
Sleep, baby, sleep!

Sleep, baby, sleep!

The large stars are the sheep,

The little stars are the lambs, I guess,
The bright moon is the shepherdess.

Sleep, baby, sleep!

Sleep, baby, sleep!

And cry not like a sheep,

Else the sheep-dog will bark and whine, And bite this naughty child of mine.

Sleep, baby, sleep!

Sleep, baby, sleep!

Thy Saviour loves His sheep;

He is the Lamb of God on high

Who for our sakes came down to die.
Sleep, baby, sleep!