The bird that sings the sweetest; the vine that crowns the rock,

The glory of the garden; "the flower of the flock."

'Tis ever thus, 't is ever thus, with creatures heavenly fair,

Too finely framed to bide the brunt more earthly natures bear,

A little while they dwell with us, blest ministers of love;

Then spread the wings we had not seen, and seek their home above.

WEE WILLIE.

FARE thee well, our last and fairest,
Dear wee Willie, fare thee well!
He who lent thee hath recalled thee,
Back with him and his to dwell.
Fifteen moons their silver lustre

Only o'er thy brow had shed,
When thy spirit joined the seraphs,
And thy dust the dead.

Like a sunbeam, through our dwelling
Shone thy presence bright and calm !
Thou didst add a zest of pleasure;
To our sorrows thou wert balm ;

Brighter beamed thine eyes than summer;
And thy first attempt at speech
Thrilled our heart-strings with a rapture
Music ne'er could reach.

As we gazed upon thee sleeping,
With thy fine, fair locks outspread,
Thou didst seem a little angel,

Who from heaven to earth had strayed;
And, entranced, we watched the vision,
Half in hope and half affright,
Lest what we deemed ours, and earthly,
Should dissolve in light.

Snows o'ermantled hill and valley,
Sullen clouds bedimmed the sky,
When the first drear doubt oppressed us,
That our child was doomed to die.
Through each long night-watch, the taper
Showed the hectic of thy cheek,
And each anxious dawn beheld thee

More worn out and weak.

'T was even then Destruction's angel Shook his pinions o'er our path, Seized the rosiest of our household,

And struck Charlie down in death, Fearful, awful, Desolation

On our lintel set his sign;

And we turned from his sad death-bed,' Willie, round to thine!

As the beams of spring's first morning
Through the silent chamber played,
Lifeless, in mine arms I raised thee,
And in thy small coffin laid;
Ere the day-star with the darkness

Nine times had triumphant striven,
In one grave had met your ashes,
And your souls in heaven!

Five were ye, the beauteous blossoms
Of our hopes, and hearts, and hearth;

Two asleep lie buried under,

Three for us yet gladden earth:

Thee, our Hyacinth, gay Charlie,
Willie, thee our snowdrop pure,
Back to us shall second spring-time
Never more allure!

Yet while thinking, O our lost ones,
Of how dear ye were to us,

Why should dreams of doubt and darkness
Haunt our troubled spirits thus ?
Why across the cold, dim church-yard
Flit our visions of despair?
Seated on the tomb, Faith's angel
Says, "Ye are not there!"

Where, then, are ye? With the Saviour Blest, for ever blest, are ye,

'Mid the sinless little children,

Who have heard his "Come to me!"

'Yond the shades of death's dark valley, Now ye lean upon his breast,

Where the wicked dare not enter,