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Mother-Song.

Who all time er-frettin' en de middle er de day? Mammy's li'l' boy, Mammy's li'l' boy.

Who all time er-gettin' so sleepy 'e can' play? Mammy's li'l' baby boy.

Byo baby boy, oh bye,

By-o li'l' boy.

En 'e come ter es mammy,
Fer rock 'im en 'er arms,
Mammy's li'l' baby boy.
Shoo, shoo, shoo-shoo-shoo.
Shoo, shoo, shoo-shoo-shoo.
Shoo, li'l' baby, shoo.

Shoo, shoo, shoo-shoo-shoo,
Shoo, shoo, shoo,

Shoo

Dere now, lay right down on Mammy's bed en go 'long back ter sleep,-Shoo-shoo.-Look hyar, nigger, go way f'om dat do'. You wake dis chile up wid dat jewsharp, en I'll wear yer out ter frazzles.-Sh-h-h

H. S. EDWARDS.

A FACE.

BETWEEN the curtains of snowy lace,
Over the way is a baby's face;
It peeps forth, smiling in merry glee,
And waves its pink little hand at me.

My heart responds with a lonely cry—
But in the wonderful By and By-
Out from the window of God's "To Be,"
That other baby shall beckon to me.

That ever haunting and longed-for face,
That perfect vision of infant grace,
Shall shine on me in a splendor of light,
Never to fade from my eager sight.

All that was taken shall be made good;
All that puzzles me understood;
And the wee white hand that I lost one day,
Shall lead me into the Better Way.

ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.

From Maurine and Other Poems.

Published by W. B. CONKEY COMPANY.

A SLUMBER SONG.

HUSH, baby, hush!

In the west there is glory,

With changes of amethyst, crimson, and gold; The sun goes to bed like a king in a story Told by a poet of old.

Hush, baby, hush!

There's a wind on the river,

A sleepy old wind, with a voice like a sigh;

And he sings to the rushes that dreamily quiver Down where the ripples run by.

Hush, baby, hush!

Lambs are drowsily bleating

Down in cool meadows where daisy-buds grow; And the echo, aweary with all day repeating, Has fallen asleep long ago.

Hush, baby, hush!

There are katydids calling

"Good-night” to each other adown every breeze; And the sweet baby-moon has been falling and falling,

Till now she is caught in the trees.

Mother-Song.

Hush, baby, hush!

It is time you were winging

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Your way to the land that lies-no one knows where.

It is late, baby, late; Mother's tired with her

singing;

Soon she will follow you there.

Hush, baby, hush!

E. O. COOKE.

FALLING TO SLEEP.

EVENING is falling to sleep in the west,

Lulling the golden-brown meadows to rest;

Twinkle like diamonds the stars in the skies,
Greeting the two little slumbering eyes.

Sweetly sleep; Jesus doth keep;

And Jesus will give His beloved ones sleep.

Now all the flowers have gone to repose,
Closed are the sweet cups of lily and rose;
Blossoms rocked lightly on evening's mild breeze,
Drowsily, dreamily swing in the trees.

Sweetly sleep; Jesus doth keep;

And Jesus will give His beloved ones sleep.

Sleep till the flowers shall open once more;
Sleep till the lark in the morning shall soar;
Sleep till the morning sun lighting the skies,
Bids thee from sweet repose joyfully rise.

Sweetly sleep; Jesus doth keep;

And Jesus will give His beloved ones sleep.

ANONYMOUS.