We think of him at eventide,

And gaze on his vacant chair

With a longing heart, that will scarce believe
That Charlie is not there.

We seem to hear his ringing laugh,

And his bounding step at the door;

But alas! there comes the sorrowful thought, We shall never hear them more!

We shall walk sometimes to his little grave,
In the pleasant summer hours;

We will speak his name in a softened voice,
And cover his grave with flowers;

We will think of him in his heavenly home,
His heavenly home so fair;

And we will trust with a hopeful trust
That we shall meet him there.

TO J. S.

WILLIAM W. STORY.

"Better is the sight of the eyes, than the wandering of the desire." - Ecclesiastes vi. 9.

I YIELD thee unto higher spheres;

I bend my head and say, "Thy will, Not mine, be done," though bitter tears The while mine eyelids fill.

I know thou hast escaped the blight
That wilts us here, and entered now

To perfect day,

though in the night

Bereft of thee we bow.

And yet thy little sunny life

Was beautiful as it was brief; It was not vexed by pain or strife, It knew but little grief.

The sunshine from our house is gone,

And from our hearts their peace and joy; We feel so terribly alone

Without thee, dearest boy!

Thou mad'st us feel how very fair

God's earth could be, and taught us love;

And in life's tapestry of care

A golden figure wove.

Brave as we will our hearts to bear,

Grief will not wholly be denied;

The ineffectual dikes we rear

Go down before its tide.

We lie all prostrate,

cannot feel

God's love; we only cry aloud,

"O God! O God!" for all things reel,

And God hides in a cloud.

TO J. S.

We blindly wail, for we are maimed
Beyond repair, until at last

He lifts us up,- all bleeding, lamed,
And shattered by the blast.

He asks," And would you wish him back,
Whom I have taken to my joy,-
Drag downward to life's narrow track
Your little spirit boy?"

"No! no!" the spirit makes reply,

"Not back to earthly chance and pain"; "Yet ah!" the shattered senses cry, "Would he were here again!"

He was so meshed within our love
That all our heart-strings bleeding lie,
And all fond hopes we round him wove
Are now but agony.

Yet let us suffer; he is freed,

And on our tears a bridge of light

Is built by God, his steps to lead
To joys beyond our sight.

279

LITTLE HERBERT.

MRS. S. F. CLAPP.

GATHER all his playthings up;
We shall never see them more,
From his dimpled, dainty hands,
Wildly thrown about the floor.

He is weary of them all,
Cares no more with them to play;
Leaving them, he hallows them:
Lay them lovingly away.

He hath heard the words of blessing, Bidding little children, "Come"; Earthly love cannot detain him Longer from his heavenly home.

Fold his little snowy hands
Lay them gently on his breast;
Now he lieth still and calm,-
Vision fair of perfect rest.

Bless him in his beauty there, -
Bless his solemn slumber deep;
"God's beloved," early crowned
With the mystic sign of " sleep.'

*"He giveth his beloved sleep."

LITTLE HERBERT.

Oft we prayed that angels might
Keep their watch about his bed:
We can trust their vigils now;
They will guard our infant dead.

While the silence in the house
Speaketh to us of our grief,

We will thank our God, who gave
Only for a season brief.

Mild and winning were his ways;
Very happy seemed he here;

Bright the sunshine that he brought
With him from the upper sphere,

One brief year he blest our home,
Filled our hearts with light and love,
Added to our lives a joy

That can never more remove.

All his

grace and innocence

Hath increased our being's store;
What God giveth once is ours, —
Ours, with him, for evermore.

Now, a little hand is pointing
Heavenward, as we journey on;
May it guide us, and receive us,
When our earthly work is done!

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