To grapple life with dimpled arms?
To lure gray Time with rosy charms,
And open to the sun like flowers?

'Tis a hard road for little feet

To struggle up life's steep highway, Though o'er them stretches heaven's own blue, And innocence like morning dew

Has not as yet been wiped away.

Wee pilgrims, they, who take no thought
What they shall eat, or drink, or wear;
Yet mighty in their low estate,

For tireless vassals on them wait,
Watching their footsteps ev'rywhere.

For them Toil's sin'wy arms are strained
To firm endurance day by day,
And his wet beads fringe many a brow

O'er household duties bending low,
That their small comforts be obtained.

Round hearts that know no other tie
Than that which worldly interests wove,

A newer life they come to bring,

A late, though never hopeless, spring, Giving the soul something to love.

Round two pure hearts that love has joined,
Love rooted in its native soil,

A holier spell these angels bear,—

To gladden joy and sweeten care, And fill life's lamp with scented oil.

They round the poor man's hearth and board
Promise what he may never be ;

Knowledge her gate wide open throws,
The road to fame to them she shows,
And whispers that the way is free.

Oft taking Mem'ry by the hand,

They bid the soul her steps retrace, To spots in life forever green—

Where by our care-worn eyes is seen, Undimmed, unchanged, fair childhood's face.

Types of the soul's progressive power,—
Bright hopes of what earth yet shall be,—

Yearly renewed like bud and flower,
Yet filling more than they life's hour-
Blossoming for eternity.

THE GOOD PHYSICIAN.

Aye, many are there who can ease a pain,
Bring the fresh color in the fading cheek,
Bid the warm life blood course thro' ev'ry vein,
The languid eye of health and pleasure speak.
But to the soul, there is but One, indeed,

Who comes to it with healing on His wings,

Bearing it upward in its hour of need,

Leading it on to higher, holier things! To those who give the body but an hour

Of ease, all thanks and gratitude be given; But He, who upholds the spirit by His power,

And bears it ever on from earth to Heaven, Naught but a life like His can ever here repay The debt of gratitude, we owe from day to day!

THE FIRST TEACHER.

Let Nature be your child's first teacher,

And with Her let him laugh and romp and play; Let flower and bird and laden-bee be preacher, Where'er his truant feet may chance to stray.

Not in the close and murky school-room
(The six long hours a day unwisely given),

A place too oft of weariness and gloom,
From home and all its fond allurements riven.

Let not his hours in idleness be flying,

Let every day its own instruction bring; Earth's, Nature's thousand voices all replying To his awakened soul's quick questioning.

When, second step, the school-room door he enters, With thought aroused, and earnest, asking eye,

Oh! let him find that joy still home-like centres, And Nature's gifts and forms are not passed by.

The dull routine and rules that break the spirit,
Scholar and teacher equally oppress :

The load of wrong thousands too oft inherit,
Oh! be thy care to make the burden less!

Place him with one who knows no partial dealing,
Who sees him only as a simple child;
Making each day some new-found truth revealing;
As weary ones by Nature oft beguiled

Forget the sadness of Life's daily lesson

When Earth presents her beauties to the eye, Or ear brings sounds to which we spell-bound listen While cares and sorrows for the moment fly.

POOR LITTLE BETTY.

"Died at the Home for Destitute Children' in Boston, poor little Betty."

Poor little Betty! was there none to love thee,
To wait with hoping joy thy coming birth?
Did no soft eyes bend patiently above thee,
God's boon to loving hearts on this sad earth?

Had earth no place within her many dwellings, No welcome for thee round one blazing hearth? Did Poverty regard thee as a burden

And Want and Care look coldly on thy mirth!

Poor little Betty! in Heaven's many mansions
May loving voices bid thee enter in ;
Thy little footsteps ramble in green pastures,
Where is no trace of sorrow or of sin.

And what the Earth to thee and thousands like thee,
With meagre hand so grudgingly hath given,
May this pass lightly from thy gentle spirit
Like a swift dream, amid the joys of Heaven.

MYSTERIOUSLY DISAPPEARED.

Mysteriously disappeared

From out our town a citizen!
His name was Honesty; they say

He ranked among the best of men.

He kept a store in Daylight street;
His charges fair, his weights were true;
He never advertised in print

Ten thousand pounds when meaning two!

He kept no dashing horse and cart,

For simple people there would come,
Who always paid for what they bought,
And then contented took it home.

They chose him once upon the Board;
He voted for the City's good;

And when he left his cousin's names
No higher on the Tax Roll stood !