A THOUGHT OVER A CRADLE.

A heart that, from its struggle with the world,
Comes nightly to thy guarded cradle home,

And, careless of the staining dust it brings,
Asks for its idol! Strange, that flowers of earth
Are visited by every air that stirs,

And drink in sweetness only, while the child

That shuts within its breast a bloom for heaven,

May take a blemish from the breath of love,

And bear the blight for ever.

With gladness at the gift of

My life is bound up in her.

I have wept this fair child! But, O God!

Thou know'st how heavily my heart at times
Bears its sweet burthen; and if Thou hast given
To nurture such as mine this spotless flower,
To bring it unpolluted unto Thee,

Take thou its love, I pray Thee! Give it light-
Though, following the sun, it turns from me!—
But, by the chord thus wrung, and by the light
Shining about her, draw me to my child!
And link us close, O God, when near to heaven!
N. P. Willis.

THE LOST LITTLE ONE.

WE miss her footfall on the floor,
Amidst the nursery din,

Her tip-tap at our bedroom door,
Her bright face peeping in.

And when to Heaven's high court above
Ascends our social prayer,

Though there are voices that we love,

One sweet voice is not there.

And dreary seem the hours, and lone,
That drag themselves along,

Now from our board her smile is gone,
And from our hearth her song.

THE LOST LITTLE ONE.

We miss that farewell laugh of hers,
With its light joyous sound,
And the kiss between the balusters,

When good-night time comes round.

And empty is her little bed,

And on her pillow there

Must never rest that cherub head

With its soft silken hair.

But often as we wake and weep,
Our midnight thoughts will roam,

To visit her cold, dreamless sleep,

In her last narrow home.

Then, then it is Faith's tear-dimm'd eyes
See through ethereal space,

Amidst the angel-crowded skies,

That dear, that well-known face.

With beckoning hand she seems to say,
"Though, all her sufferings o'er,
Your little one is borne away

To this celestial shore,

Doubt not she longs to welcome you
To her glad, bright abode,
There happy endless ages through

To live with her and God."

Anonymous.

DIRGE FOR A YOUNG GIRL.

When the summer moon is shining,

Soft and fair,

Friends she loved, in tears are twining
Chaplets there.

Rest in peace, thou gentle spirit,

Throned above!

Souls like thine with God inherit

Life and love!

James T. Fields.

"NOT LOST, BUT GONE BEFORE.”

How mournful seems, in broken dreams,

The memory of the day,

When icy Death hath seal'd the breath
Of some dear form of clay.

When pale, unmoved, the face we loved,

The face we thought so fair,

And the hand lies cold, whose fervent hold
Once charm'd away despair.

Oh, what could heal the grief we feel

For hopes that come no more, Had we ne'er heard the Scripture word, "Not lost, but gone before."