All the past came flooding o'er me,
And I turned away to weep.

Came her voice serene and saint-like,
"Do not leave me yet awhile;"
Then I looked, her eyes were brilliant,
And her features wore a smile

As she gazed around upon us,
Pointing with her snow-white hand,
Through the vista of the future,
To that brighter, better land.

Softly whispering "Loved ones meet me,
On that far celestial shore,
Where the noble faithful-hearted

Meet again to part no more."

Then her hand dropped down beside her, O'er her features passed a change,

Pallid grew her lips and rigid,

Glassy grew her eyes and strange.

And I knew, though almost frantic,
As the dear white hand I pressed,
That the worn and weary spirit,
Had at last gone home to rest.

Time passed on, and sunny summer
Came again to deck our bowers,
With its robe of gold and emerald,

And its wreath of ferns and flowers.

All around was love and beauty,
All seemed happy as of yore,
But the bliss of vanished moments
Came to cheer my heart no more.

And a weary, weeping wanderer,
O'er this wilderness I roam,

Till the summons come-""Tis finished!
Leave thy toil and hasten home."

t

THE PAUPER CHILD.

HERE they lay upon their pallets

In that crowded Workhouse roomNot a sound disturbed the silence, Not one ray relieved the gloom :

All that band of little vagrants,
Branded with the awful ban
Justice visits on the children,
For the crimes of fallen man.

Outcasts of a dark misfortune,

Offsprings of disgrace and shame, Purchase of the fiend deception, Wasted life and blighted fame;

Mites engendered in the pest-holes
Of pollution, filth, and crime,
Waifs washed up amid the surges
Of the cities' mud and slime;

Pictures of a masked oppression,
Base unkindness, want and wrong;
All so thin and pale and hungry,
All so old and yet so young!

They had ate their scanty pittance
Long before the day had fled,
And were marshalled by the matron,
Like a mimic troop, to bed.

Long ago was hushed each whisper,
E'en the grieved had ceased to weep;

All oblivious of their sorrows,
Side by side lay fast asleep.

All but one poor little sufferer,
And alone she panting lay,
None to speak a word of kindness,
None to wipe her tears away;

No fond hand to mix the cordial,
None to soothe her bosom's pain,
None to smooth her ruffled pillow,
None to cool her aching brain.

Wildly throbbed her little pulses

With a strange, inconstant beat, And her throat was parched and thirsty With the burning fever-heat.

Slowly rolled the perspiration

From her brow in muddy streaks;

Now and then a tear-drop trickled

Down her flushed and wasted cheeks.

Strangely fixed was every feature,
And the brilliant, restless eyes
Seemed to gaze beyond the ceiling
Up into the dusky skies;

And the little hands were folded
O'er her bosom thin and bare,
And the lips, so parched and swollen,
Slowly moved as if in prayer.

There she lay, nor sigh, nor murmur,
Till the clock within the tower,
Waking up a thousand echoes,

Boomed the solemn midnight hour.

And the sounds so weird and ghost-like, As they pierced her throbbing brain, Broke the spell that bound her senses, Brought her back to earth again;

And she longed to reach the window, Longed to sit and dream once more, With the grated casement open,

As she oft had sat before,

Looking o'er the silent city,

To the mountains hoar and bare, Listening to the night's low whisperings, Drinking in the balmy air;

Gazing out into the distance,

Where the wondrous orbs of light Roll in calm mysterious grandeur

Through the misty realms of night;

Gazing till a sad, sweet feeling,
O'er her listening senses stole,
Veneration, love, and wonder,
Thrilled with solemn joy her soul.

For she seemed to see a vista,

Opening through the dark blue sky, See a snow-white throng of minstrels, Hear a rapturous strain of joy ;

See a host of happy children,

Free from harsh rebuke and toil, Dancing round a crystal fountain, 'Neath a loving father's smile;

And she thought they seemed to beckon, And to murmur softly, "Come!

Leave that world of pain and darkness, Come, and share our radiant home."

Yes, she longed to reach the window,
Longed to scan the midnight sky,

But her limbs were far too feeble,
And no other help was nigh.

Turned she slowly on her pillow,
With a weary, weary moan: