Grandmother's gray head is bending low
Over the dear little downy one;

The steps of her pathway are few to go;
The baby's journey is just begun.
Yet the rosy dawn of his childish love

Brightens the evening that else were dim;
And in after years from her home above,
The light of her blessing will rest on him.

Children in the Household.

LD age is a garden of faded flowers,
Ruined bowers,

Peopled by cares and failing powers;

Where Pain with his crutch and lonely Grief
Grope with brief,

Slow steps over ruined stalk and leaf.

But the love of children is like some rare
Heavenly air,

That makes long Indian summer there;

A youth in age, when the skies yet glow,
Soft winds blow,

And hearts keep glad under locks of snow.

In the best-wrought life there is still a reft,
Something left

Forever unfinished, a broken weft.

CHILDREN IN THE HOUSEHOLD.

119

But merciful Nature makes amends,

When she sends

Youth, that takes up our raveled ends,

Our hopes, our loves, that they be not quite
Lost to sight;

But leave behind us a fringe of light.

Blessed be children! Year by year

They appear,

Filling the humblest home with cheer.

Now a daughter and now a son,

One by one

They are cradled, they creep, they walk, they run.

Sons and daughters, until, behold!

Young and old,

A Jacob's-ladder with steps of gold!

'A ladder of little heads! each fair

Head a stair

For the angels that visit the parent pair!

Blessed be childhood! even its chains
Are our gains!

Welcome and blessed with all the pains,

Losses, and upward vanishings

Of light wings,—

With all the sorrow and toil it brings,

All burdens that ever those small feet bore

To our door,—

Blessed and welcome forevermore!

How Soon We Lose Them.

OLD diligent converse with thy children! have them Morning and evening round thee, love thou them, And win their love in these rare, beauteous years; For only while the short-lived dream of childhood Lasts are they thine, no longer! When youth comes

And much allures their hearts, — which thou hast not.

They gain a knowledge of an older world

Which fills their souls; and floats before them now

The Future. And the Present thus is lost.
Then, with his little traveling-pocket full
Of indispensables, the boy goes forth.
Weeping, thou watchest till he disappears,
And never after is he thine again!

He comes back home, he loves,

- he wins a maid,

He lives! They live, and others spring to life.

From him,

and now thou hast in him,

A human being, but no more a child!

Thy daughter, wedded, takes a frequent joy
In bringing thee her children to thy house!
Thou hast the mother, but the child no more!
Hold diligent converse with thy children! Have them
Morning and evening round thee, love thou them,
And win their love in the rare, beauteous years.

120

The Mother's Day-Dream.

MOTHER sat at her sewing,
But her brow was full of thought,
The little one playing beside her
Her own sweet mischief wrought.
A book on a chair lay near her;
'Twas open, I strove to see,
At the old Greek artist's story-
I paint for eternity."

So I fancied all her dreaming;

I watched her serious eye

As the 'broidery dropped from her fingers, And she heaved a heartfelt sigh.

She drew the little one nearer.

And looked on the sunny face,

Swept the bright curls from the open brow, And kissed it with loving grace.

And she thought, "I, too, am an artist,

My life-work here I see;

This sweet, dear face my hand must trace, I must paint for eternity.

Hence each dark passion shadow!

Pain's deeply graven lines!
Here must be the reflected beauty
That from the pure heart shines.

"But how shall I blend the colors?

How mingle the light and shade
Or arrange the weird surroundings
The future has arrayed?
O life, thou hast weary nightfalls,

And days all drear that be,
But from thy darkness marvelous grace
Wilt thou evoke for me?

"Alas, that I am but a learner!
So where shall I make me wise,

Or obtain the rare old colors

The Master's precious dyes?

I must haste to the fount of beauty,

Must pleadingly kneel at His feet, And crave, 'mid his wiser scholars, The humblest pupil's seat.

"Then, hand and heart together,

Some grace shall add each day;
Thus, thus, shall her face grow lustrous
With beauty that cannot decay.
My darling! God guide my pencil

And grant me the vision to see

In the light of His love, without blemish or stain,

In the coming eternity!"

Then the mother awoke from her day-dream,

Her face grew bright again,

And I knew her faith was strengthened

By more than angel's ken;