"And often after sunset, sir, When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer And eat my supper there.

"The first that died was sister Jane; In bed she moaning lay Till G.o.d released her from her pain; And then she went away.

"So in the churchyard she was laid; And, when the gra.s.s was dry, Together round her grave we played, My brother John and 1.

"And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go, And he lies by her side." {456}

"How many are you then," said I, "If there are two in heaven?"

Quick was the little maid's reply, "O master! We are seven."

"But they are dead: those two are dead; Their spirits are in heaven!"

'T was throwing words away; for still The little maid would have her will, And said, "Nay, we are seven!"

--_William Wordsworth_.

{457}{458}

[Ill.u.s.tration]

JESUS IN THE TEMPLE By William Holman Hunt (1827-1910)

One of the famous English school of so called pre-Raphaelite painters. This picture, "Jesus in the Temple," is one of his most celebrated paintings [End ill.u.s.tration]

{459}

CHILDREN

Come to me, O ye children!

For I hear you at your play, And the questions that perplexed me Have vanished quite away.

Ye open the eastern windows, That look toward the sun, Where thoughts are singing swallows And the brooks of morning run.

In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine, In your thoughts the brooklet's flow, But in mine is the wind of autumn And the first fall of the snow.

Ah! what would the world be to us If the children were no more?

We should dread the desert behind us Worse than the dark before.

What the leaves are to the forest, With light and air for food, Ere their sweet and tender juices Have been hardened into wood,--

That to the world are children; Through them it feels the glow Of a brighter and sunnier climate Than reaches the trunks below. {460}

Come to me, O ye children!

And whisper in my ear What the birds and the winds are singing In your sunny atmosphere.

For what are all our contrivings, And the wisdom of our books, When compared with your caresses, And the gladness of your looks?

Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said; For ye are living poems, And all the rest are dead.

--_Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_.

By permission of Houghton. Mifflin & Co.

{461}

ONE BY ONE

One by one the sands are flowing, One by one the moments fall; Some are coming, some are going; Do not strive to grasp them all.

One by one thy duties wait thee, Let thy whole strength go to each; Let no future dreams elate thee, Learn thou first what these can teach.

One by one (bright gifts from heaven) Joys are sent thee here below; Take them readily when given,-- Ready, too, to let them go.

One by one thy griefs shall meet thee, Do not fear an armed band; One will fade as others greet thee-- Shadows pa.s.sing through the land.

Do not look at life's long sorrow; See how small each moment's pain; G.o.d will help thee for to-morrow; So each day begin again.

Every hour, that fleets so slowly, Has its task to do or bear; Luminous the crown and holy, When each gem is set with care. {462}

Do not linger with regretting, Or for pa.s.sing hours despond; Nor, the daily toil forgetting, Look too eagerly beyond.

Hours are golden links, G.o.d's token, Reaching heaven; but one by one Take them, lest the chain be broken, Ere the pilgrimage be done.

--_Adelaide Ann Procter_.

{463}

TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW

If Fortune, with a smiling face, Strew roses in our way, When shall we stoop to pick them up?-- To-day, my friend, to-day.

But should she frown with face of care And talk of coming sorrow, When shall we grieve, if grieve we must?-- To-morrow, friend, to-morrow.

If those who've wronged us own their faults And kindly pity pray, When shall we listen and forgive?-- To-day, my friend, to-day.

But if stern Justice urge rebuke, And warmth from memory borrow, When shall we chide, if chide we dare?-- To-morrow, friend, to-morrow.

For virtuous acts and harmless joys The minutes will not stay; We've always time to welcome them To-day, my friend, to-day.

But care, resentment, angry words, And unavailing sorrow, Come far too soon, if they appear To-morrow, friend, to-morrow.

{464}

STILL WITH THEE

Still, still with Thee, my G.o.d, I would desire to be, By day, by night, at home, abroad, I would be still with Thee.

With Thee when dawn comes in, And calls me back to care, Each day returning to begin With Thee, my G.o.d, in prayer.

With Thee amid the crowd That throngs the busy mart, To hear Thy voice, 'mid clamor loud, Speak softly to my heart.

With Thee when day is done, And evening calms the mind; The setting, as the rising, sun With Thee my heart would find.