And shine out in happy overflow, By her snow-white cot at close of day, Rose the praying voice to where, unseen, "What good child is this," the angel said, Low and soft, oh! very low and soft, Crooned the blackbird in the orchard croft, "Bell, dear Bell!" crooned he. "Whom God's creatures love," the angel fair Murmured, "God doth bless with angels' care; Child, thy bed shall be Folded safe from harm. Love, deep and kind, Shall watch around, and leave good gifts behind, Little Bell, for thee." PRAYING AND LOVING. S. T. COLERIDGE. FROM "THE ANCIENT MARINER." He prayeth best who loveth best THE ANGEL'S WHISPER. SAMUEL LOVER. A BABY was sleeping; Its mother was weeping; For her husband was far on the wild raging sea; And the tempest was swelling Round the fisherman's dwelling, And she cried, "Dermot, darling, Oh, come back to me!" Her beads while she numbered The baby still slumbered, And smiled in her face as she bended her knee. "Oh, blest be that warning, That sweet sleep adorning, For I know that the angels are whispering to thee! "And while they are keeping Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me! They'd watch o'er thy father, For I know that the angels are whispering to thee." The dawn of the morning Saw Dermot returning, And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see; And closely caressing Her child with a blessing, Said, "I knew that the angels were whispering with thee." THE LITTLE NURSE. FROM THE FRENCH OF MME. TASTU. TRANSLATED AND ARRANGED BY THE EDITORS. My mother has but just gone out; Indeed I wish that she were here; Why won't you smile, oh, why? What is there that you'd like of mine? Oh, dear! will nothing make you good? I know a story, nice and long; No; nothing yet but scream and tear: Don't cry, my little brother dear; O baby, don't you cry! You naughty, naughty little child! Oh, joy! here comes our mother! THE COMMON QUESTION. JOHN G. WHITTIER. BEHIND us at our evening meal He shook his wings and crimson tail And, in his sharp, impatient way, "Fie, silly bird!" I answered, “tuck Then, smiling, to myself I said: The boy with whip and top and drum, And men with lands and houses, ask However full, with something more No bounty of indulgent Heaven The dear God hears and pities all, And so I sometimes think our prayers Might well be merged in one; And nest and perch, and hearth and church, Repeat, "Thy will be done!" A LITTLE GOOSE. ANONYMOUS. THE chill November day was done, The working world home faring; The wind came whistling through the streets And set the gas-lamps flaring; |