He ate and drank like a famished wolf and then lay down to rest, And the camp perchance had a stiller feast for its strange Christmas guest. But ere ever the morning dawned again, the captain touched his hand : “Here is a horse and some meat and bread; fly to the Rio Grande ! Fly for your life! We follow hard, touch nothing on your way— Your life was only spared because 'twas Jesus Christ's birthday.” He watched him ride as the falcon flies, then turned to the breaking day; The men awoke, the Christmas berries were quietly cast away; And, full of thought, they saddled again and rode off into the West May God be merciful to them, as they were to their guest! Amelia Barr. MEASURING THE BABY. WE measured the riotous baby A lily grew on the threshold, A royal tiger-lily, With spots of purple and gold, And a heart like a jeweled chalice, The fragrant dew to hold. Without, the bluebirds whistled His eyes were wide as bluebells His mouth like a flower unblownTwo little bare feet, like funny white mice, Peeped out from his snowy gown; And we thought, with a thrill of rapture That yet had a touch of pain, When June rolls around with her roses, We'll measure the boy again. Ah me in a darkened chamber, With the sunshine shut away, Through tears that fell like a bitter rain, We measured the boy to-day; And the little bare feet, that were dimpled And sweet as a budding rose, Lay side by side together, In the hush of a long repose! Up from the dainty pillow, White as the risen dawn, The fair little face lay smiling, With the light of heaven thereon; Never to snatch at the sunshine We measured the sleeping baby And out of the darkened chamber Emma Alice Brown. CHRIST, THE GLEANER. IN a vision of the night Looked I upon fields of light, Moonlight fell on golden sheaves, All His toilers soundly sleep, One who walketh grave and slow, Gathering in secluded spot Ere the morning shall arise, Bruised and broken, held unsound, Nothing there but worthless straw. Only He with eyes of light Lo! it is the darkest hour, Stars have set and clouds do lower; When the sun shall flood the land, Riper, fuller, none than they Rosa Mulholland. COMFORTING GRANDMA. Grandma sat in her old arm-chair, Our baby on her knee; Three-score-and-ten were grandma's years, Sweet Baby Bell's were three. |