THE PATTER OF LITTLE FEET.

This child is our "speaking picture,"
A birdling that chatters and sings,
Sometimes a sleeping cherub-

(Our other one has wings,) His heart is a charmed casket,

Full of all that's cunning and sweet, And no harp-strings hold such music As follows his twinkling feet.

When the glory of sunset opens
The highway by angels trod,
And seems to unbar the city
Whose builder and maker is God,
Close to the crystal portal,

I see by the gates of pearl,
The eyes of our other angel,-
A twin-born little girl.

And I ask to be taught and directed.
To guide his footsteps aright,
So that I be accounted worthy
To walk in sandals of light,
And hear amid songs of welcome

From messengers trusty and fleet,

On the starry floor of heaven,

The patter of little feet.

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TO MY GODCHILD, ALICE.

TO MY GODCHILD, ALICE.

ALICE, Alice, little Alice

My new christened baby Alice,

Can there ever rhymes be found
To express my wishes for thee
In a silvery flowing, worthy
Of that silver sound?
Bonnie Alice, Lady Alice,

Sure, this sweetest name must be

A true omen to thee, Alice,

Of a life's long melody.

Alice, Alice, little Alice,

May'st thou prove a golden chalice,
Filled with holiness like wine;
With rich blessings running o'er,
Yet replenished evermore

From a fount Divine:

Alice, Alice, little Alice,

When this future comes to thee, In thy young life's brimming chalice Keep some drops of balm for me!

Alice, Alice, little Alice,

Mayst thou grow a goodly palace,

Fitly framed from roof to floors,
Pure unto the inmost centre,

While high thoughts like angels enter

PEASANT CHILDREN.

At the open doors: Alice, Alice, little Alice,

When this beauteous sight I see, In thy woman-heart's wide palace Keep one nook of love for me.

Alice, Alice, little Alice,-
Sure the verse halts out of malice
To the thoughts it feebly bears,
And thy name's soft echoes, ranging
From quaint rhyme to rhyme, are changing
Into silent prayers.

God be with thee, little Alice,

Of His bounteousness may He

Fill the chalice, build the palace,

Here, unto eternity!

MISS MULOCH.

PEASANT CHILDREN.

EVERYWHERE, everywhere,

Like the butterfly's silver wings,
That are seen by all in the summer air,
We meet with these beautiful things!
And the low, sweet lisp of the baby child
By a thousand hills is heard,

And the voice of the young heart's laughter, wild
As the voice of a singing bird!

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PEASANT CHILDREN.

The cradle rocks in the peasant's cot,
As it rocks in the noble's hall,
And the brightest gift in the loftiest lot
Is a gift that is given to all;

For the sunny light of childhood's eyes
Is a boon like the common air,
And like the sunshine of the skies,
It falleth everywhere!

They tell us that old Earth no more

By angel feet is trod,

They bring not now as they brought of yore

The oracles of God.

O, each of these young human flowers

God's own high message bears,
And we are walking all our hours
With "angels unawares"!

By stifling street and breezy hill
We meet their spirit mirth;

That such bright shapes should linger till
They take the stains of earth!

O, play not those a blessed part

To whom the boon is given

To leave their errand with the heart,

And straight return to heaven!

MARY HOWITT.

THE CHILDREN'S PRAYER.

THE CHILDREN'S PRAYER.

BEAUTIFUL the children's faces!

Spite of all that mars and sears: To my inmost heart appealing; Calling forth love's tenderest feeling: Steeping all my soul with tears.

Eloquent the children's faces-
Poverty's lean look, which saith,
Save us save us! woe surrounds us;
Little knowledge sore confounds us;
Life is but a lingering death.

Give us light amid our darkness;
Let us know the good from ill;
Hate us not for all our blindness;
Love us, lead us, show us kindness,
You can make us what you will.

We are willing; we are ready;

We would learn if you would teach; We have hearts that yearn towards duty; We have minds alive to beauty;

Souls that any height can reach.

Raise us by your Christian knowledge:
Consecrate to man our powers;
Let us take our proper station;

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