But they come not, and the wind,

Gathering strength as eve descends, Whispers, "Thou art left behind,

Make the lengthening shadows friends!"

And I start, and find it true ;

Low the sun, and dim the light; Lines of darkness, wet with dew,

Stretch across the verdure bright.

Strangers wonder, passing by,

What the lady's doing there;

Mark a trouble in her eye,
Note a flurry in her air.

Oh! my friends, I do but dream
Of the years that fled so fast;
Youth, you know, looks down the stream,
Old age, upwards to the past.

Upwards, backwards, which you will;

There, in life's midsummer day,

Happy children, children still,

Round their happier parents play.

Those the forms I seem to see,

Those the voices in my ear,
Those the phantoms that for me
Make the croquet ground so dear.

True, the darkness may descend,
Cloud the vision, dim the sight;

But I count it as a friend

Leading to returning light.

Mow the grass, then, roll it fine,

Let me dream the dear ones come;

Shall not once a day divine

Bring the scatter'd wanderers home?

Margaret Gatty.

THE ANGEL'S STORY.

HROUGH the blue and frosty heavens, Christmas stars were shining bright; Glistening lamps throughout the City Almost match'd their gleaming light; While the winter snow was lying, And the winter winds were sighing,

Long ago, one Christmas night.

While, from every tower and steeple,

Pealing bells were sounding clear,
(Never with such tones of gladness,
Save when Christmas time is near,)
Many a one that night was merry

Who had toil'd through all the year.

That night saw old wrongs forgiven,
Friends, long parted, reconciled;
Voices all unused to laughter,

Mournful eyes that rarely smiled, Trembling hearts that fear'd the morrow From their anxious thoughts beguiled.

Rich and poor felt love and blessing
From the gracious season fall;

Joy and plenty in the cottage,

Peace and feasting in the hall; And the voices of the children

Ringing clear above it all!

Yet one house was dim and darken'd: Gloom, and sickness, and despair, Dwelling in the gilded chambers,

Creeping up the marble stair,

Even still'd the voice of mourning

For a child lay dying there.

Silken curtains fell around him,
Velvet carpets hush'd the tread,

Many costly toys were lying,
All unheeded, by his bed;
And his tangled golden ringlets
Were on downy pillows spread.

The skill of all that mighty City
To save one little life was vain;
One little thread from being broken,
One fatal word from being spoken;
Nay, his very mother's pain,
And the mighty love within her

Could not give him health again.

So she knelt there still beside him, She alone with strength to smile, Promising that he should suffer

No more in a little while,

Murmuring tender song and story

Weary hours to beguile.

Suddenly an unseen Presence

Check'd those constant moaning cries, Still'd the little heart's quick fluttering, Raised those blue and wondering eyes, Fix'd on some mysterious vision,

With a startled sweet surprise.

For a radiant angel hover'd,

Smiling, o'er the little bed;
White his raiment, from his shoulders

Snowy dove-like pinions spread,

And a starlike light was shining
In a glory round his head.

While, with tender love, the angel
Leaning o'er the little nest,

In his arms the sick child folding,
Laid him gently on his breast,
Sobs and wailing told the mother
That her darling was at rest.

So the angel, slowly rising,

Spread his wings; and, through the air, Bore the child, and while he held him

To his heart, with loving care,