How is it with the child? 'Tis well;
Nor would I any miracle
Might stir my sleeper's tranquil trance,
Or plague his painless countenance:
I would not any seer might place
His staff on my immortal's face.
Or lip to lip, and eye to eye,
Charm back his pale mortality.
No, Shunamite! I would not break
God's stillness. Let them weep who wake.
For Charlie's sake my lot is blest:
No comfort like his mother's breast,
No praise like hers; no charm expressed
In fairest forms hath half her zest.
For Charlie's sake this bird's caressed
That death left lonely in the nest;
For Charlie's sake my heart is dressed,
As for its birthday, in its best;
For Charlie's sake we leave the rest.
To Him who gave, and who did take,
And saved us twice, for Charlie's sake.
JOHN WILLIAMSON PALMER.
WATCHING FOR PAPA.
She always stood upon the steps
Just by the cottage door,
Waiting to kiss me when I came
Each night home from the store.
Her eyes were like two glorious stars,
Dancing in heaven's own blue--
"Papa," she'd call like a wee bird,
"_I's looten out for oo!_"
Alas! how sadly do our lives
Change as we onward roam!
For now no birdie voice calls out
To bid me welcome home.
No little hands stretched out for me,
No blue eyes dancing bright,
No baby face peeps from the door
When I come home at night.
And yet there's comfort in the thought
That when life's toil is o'er,
And passing through the sable flood
I gain the brighter shore,
My little angel at the gate,
With eyes divinely blue,
Will call with birdie voice, "Papa,
_I's looten out for oo!_"
ANONYMOUS.
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