Each parent looks with joy,

On happy children's faces; And garment, book, or toy,

On lighted table placesNone heed the orphan boy!

"Oh, Jesus! Saviour blest! My father and my mother Thou tookest to thy rest;

Be Thou my friend, no other Will fold me to his breast."

The orphan feebly tries

To chafe his frozen fingers, His mantle closer ties,

And in the small street lingers, With fixed and mournful eyes.

Ah! see, there comes in sight,
Along the pavement gliding,
A child in raiment white,

His noiseless footsteps guiding
By waxen taper's light.

He speaks in accents clear-
"Christ once a babe was lying,
To earthly mother dear:

He hears the children's crying
When all forget them here.

C

"His word is sure to all

Who ask a Saviour's blessing; He lists to great and small,

Their woes and wants expressing,

In street and lighted hall.

"He'll plant thy Christmas tree In boundless space so fairly, That none can fairer be,

Of all adorned so rarely, Which thou to-day didst see."

دو

He points with smiling mien,
Where purest light is streaming
From stars of silver sheen,
Like waxen tapers gleaming
In Christmas holly green.

How near, yet far they be!

The wondrous lamps are burning With such sweet mystery,

The orphan's heart is yearning To reach his Christmas tree!

Now, angels from above

With gracious signs are bending, Among the boughs they move, And to the child descending Lift him in arms of love.

A home of light and bliss

The little one receiveth;
And certainly, I wis,

He ne'er for pleasure grieveth
That he on earth may miss!

THE SWALLOWS.

THE Swallows build at my window,
I watch them early and late:
How softly the warbling swallow
Communes with his sitting mate.

From the sun-rise until evening
I can hear the nestlings cry;
I can see the anxious parents
As they chase the airy fly.

They seem at home in the heavens,
And little care for the earth;
A wondrous change for the nestlings,
When they leave their place of birth.

Enclosed in the earthen cradle,
How unknowing they must be
Of Summer air and of sunshine,
And the life of liberty.

But as daily they grow stronger,

They begin to feel their wings,—

And their hearts are stirred with knowledge Of all that the parent sings.

And the pretty heads are stretching
Far out of the narrow nest;
And the large, bright eyes are glancing,
So restless, from east to west.

Be patient, oh, nestling swallow!
Wait yet but a little time,
Thou shalt skim the gleaming azure,
And gain a more genial clime.

Be patient, oh, yearning spirit!
Lie still in the earthen nest;
For thou, too, shalt win thy freedom,
And in higher heavens be blest.

HARMONY.

Go listen in the April woods,
When every bird that sings,
His own distinct, peculiar note,
To swell the chorus brings.

Not every one a nightingale,

Or meekly cooing dove;

But mournful, wild, or jubilant,
Each sings a song of love.

Each sings with truth and earnestness
His native melody;

Yet could th' attentive ear discern
A fuller harmony?

Thus may the differing creeds and prayers
That seem to part us here,

Arise as one harmonious whole

To the great Father's ear.

Oh, Thou, in whom our being is,

In whom we live and move,—
Great God of love, attune our souls,
Attune our lives to love.

TO THE SNOWY ALBATROSS, SLEEPING

ON THE WATER.

FAIR sleeping bird, how gracefully

Thy calm, unfearing rest

Thou takest, when the waves are still

Upon the ocean's breast.