THE WELCOME. Anither bairn cam hame, Hame to mither an' me! It was yestre 'en in the gloamin, Sax little bonnie mouths, Ah me! tak muckle to fill, Sae nestle up closer, dearie, Lie saft on the snawy breist, Where fast life's fountain floweth, When thy twa warm lips are preist. The rich mon counteth his treasures, By 's harvests that whiten the land; By the hope that glints in bairnies' een, An' it's welcome hame my darlin', An' it's never may ye fin' less o' love Than the love ye brought wi' ye! Cauld's the blast o' the wild wind, An' rough the world may be, But warm's the hame o' the wee one, This same home thought, but with an application all may make their own, is apparent in the following, also from The Bazar, which has wandered far as a waif: OUR OWN. If I had known in the morning How wearily all the day The words unkind would trouble my mind That I said when you went away, I had been more careful, darling, Nor given you needless pain; But we vex our own with look and tone For though in the quiet evening You may give me the kiss of peace, How many go forth at morning Who never come home at night! And hearts have broken for harsh words spoken, We have careful thought for the stranger, And smiles for the sometime guest; But oft for our own the bitter tone, Though we love our own the best. Ah! brow with the shade of scorn, 'T were a cruel fate, were the night too late Mrs. Sangster knows the true pathos of life—as so many sweet singers do-but despite this, she has gone on as bravely as a brave woman could, with her chief trust in divine help, her chief comfort in divine hope. If sometimes the clouds were dark about her, she has found them growing brighter as looked at in imagination from THE HEAVEN SIDE. The sky was soft with tender blue, The distant mountains' purple line The very wind was soft and sweet, And gently did the zephyrs blow When lo! a change. The tranquil sky Like battled hosts in war's array, Their vengeful ranks assault the day! And grim and sullen, fold on fold, Still o'er them soft the tender blue, With Heaven's brightness gleaming through, Was steadfast, radiant, undismayed, And while we shivered in the gray And, looked on from the Heaven side, And where God sees them floating fair, For a year or two, Mrs. S. was employed as Associate Editor of Hearth & Home, and in that capacity she wrote much in the way of miscellaneous matter-stories, essays, and the like. Several of her poems, contributed to that journal, were generally copied, notably this: BEFORE THE LEAVES FALL. I wonder if oak and maple, Willow and elm and all, Are stirred at heart by the coming That shall be when chill November Perhaps beside the water The willow bends, serene As when her young leaves glistened But the brave old oak is flushing The blush of a child asleep. "If die we must," the leaflets "We will wear the colors of gladness No eyes shall see us falter; And before we lay it down, So, trees of the stately forest, And trees of the trodden way, You are kindling into glory And we who gaze remember That more than all they lost, To hearts and trees together, May come through the ripening frost. The following, contributed to The Bazar, has become a seasonable tit-bit for editors, and is given place in their columns almost every recurring spring: THE BUILDING OF THE NEST. They'll come again to the apple tree- When the orchard branches are fair to see In the snow of the blossoms dressed, |