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The mother wept as she answered low,

"'Twas a strange, strange dream thou wert given; But ah, my child, I would bid thee know

'Twill only be finished in heaven.”

III. CHRISTMAS.

LORD JOHN MANNERS.

LD Christmas comes about again, The blessed day draws near,

Albeit our faith and love do wax More faint and cold each year.

Oh! but it was a goodly sound,

In th' unenlighten'd days,

To hear our fathers raise their song
Of simple-hearted praise.

Oh! but it was a goodly sight,
The rough-built hall to see,

Red berries bright, and holly green.
Proclaim'd o'er hall and bower
That holy Church ruled all the land
With undisputed power.

O'er wrekin wide, from side to side,
From graybeard, maid, and boy,
Loud rang the notes, swift flow'd the tide
Of unrestrain'd joy.

And now, of all our customs rare,
And good old English ways,

Glancing with high-born dames and men, This one, of keeping Christmas-time,

And hinds of low degree.

To holy Church's dearest sons,
The humble and the poor,
To all who came, the seneschal
Threw open wide the door.

With morris-dance, and carol-song,
And quaint old mystery,
Memorials of a holy-day

Were mingled in their glee.

Tw

Alone has reach'd our days.

Still, though our hearty glee has gone,
Though faith and love be cold,
Still do we welcome Christmas-tide
As fondly as of old.

Still round the old paternal hearth
Do loving faces meet,

And brothers parted through the year
Do brothers kindly greet.

Oh! may we aye, whate'er betide,
In Christian joy and mirth,

Sing welcome to the blessed day
That gave our Saviour birth!

IV. THE SQUIRREL'S LESSON.

WO little squirrels, out in the sun,

One gathered nuts, and the other had none;

"Time enough yet," his constant refrain;

"Summer is still only just on the wane."

Listen, my child, while I tell you his fate :

He roused him at last, but he roused him too late; Down fell the snow from a pitiless cloud,

And gave little squirrel a spotless white shroud.

Two little boys in a school-room were placed, One always perfect, the other disgraced; "Time enough yet for my learning," he said; "I will climb, by and by, from the foot to the head."

Listen, my darling; their locks are turned gray;
One as a Governor sitteth to-day;

The other, a pauper, looks out at the door

Of the almshouse, and idles his days as of yore.

Two kinds of people we meet every day;
One is at work, the other at play,
Living uncared for, dying unknown--
The busiest hive hath ever a drone.

V. BESSIE'S CHRISTMAS DREAM.

WAS a beautiful Christmas morning,
And over the new-fallen snow
Gay troops of light-hearted children.
Were running to and fro.

From mansion, and cottage, and hovel
Their merry laughter rang out;
The hill-top and valley resounded
With their joyous matin shout.

Then, peeping in at the window,
As I passed through the city streets,
I could see their Christmas tables
All laden with dainty meats.

The sires, and grandsires, and children
Were seizing with strange delight
The store of wonderful treasures
St. Nicholas brought in the night.

But I sighed as I hastened onward,
When, passing the rich man's door,
I came to the tenement houses
Where dwell the wretchedly poor.

Climbing up the rickety stairways,
And trembling in the gloom,
I stopped at the half open doorway
Of a low and dismal room.

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"O, mother, I feel so sorry,

For I know you are weeping now.
I feel the hot tears falling
Upon my cheeks and brow.

"Now I know that you are thinking
Of that sad Christmas day
When my father tenderly kissed us
Before he went away.

"We watched and waited-waited,
But he never came back again,
He does not know of your sorrow,
He does not know of my pain.

"Then, too, it was Christmas morning,
It was just one year ago,

When I slipped on the icy pavement,
And fell and hurt me so.

"Never since that dreadful morning

Have I left this little bed,

When they brought me home to you fainting,

And you thought poor Bessie was dead.

"O, I know I've been so much trouble,
And made you so much care,

Beside, all the time, my poor mother,
You've had little to eat and to wear.

"And I know you have no money,
For you've had no time to sew;
'Twould be better if I were with Jesus,
He has bidden me come, you know.

"I'm going to sleep, for I'm easy,
And I don't feel any pain,

I hope I shall see, when I'm sleeping,
That beautiful dream again.

"Tell me, what shall I do, dear mother, If Jesus should call me again?

I will stay with him, if you're willing, 'Twould not be so hard for you then.

She slept, and I heard the low moaning
Of a sorrowful voice in prayer.
"O, heavenly Father, Thou gavest,
To Thee I surrender my care,-

"My treasure, my last and my only,
I give her, O Lord, unto Thee.
Forsaken, and widowed, and lonely,
Have pity, O Lord, upon me."

The dark room was radiant with glory;
Soft music seemed stirring the air,
And a faint, low rustling of pinions
Like angels hovering there.

Then I knew, as I entered half fearful,
And stood by the comfortless bed,
And looked on the worn, wasted figure,
That Bessie the cripple was dead.

VI. BRUCE AND THE SPIDER.

ELIZA COOK.

KIN

ING BRUCE of Scotland flung himself down in a lonely mood to think!
'Tis true he was monarch, and wore a crown, but his heart was beginning
to sink.

For he had been trying to do a great deed to make his people glad;
He had tried and tried, but could'nt succeed, and so he became quite sad.
He flung himself down in low despair, as grieved as man could be ;
And after a while, as he pondered there, "I'll give it all up," said he.
Now just at that moment a spider dropped, with its silken cobweb clue;

And the king, in the midst of his thinking stopped-to see what the spider would do!
'Twas a long way up to the ceiling dome; and it hung by a rope so fine,
That how it would get to its cobweb home, King Bruce could not divine.
It soon began to cling and crawl straight up with strong endeavor,—
But down it came with a slipping sprawl, as near to the ground as ever.
Again the spider swung below, but again it quickly mounted;

Till up and down, now fast, now slow, nine brave attempts were counted.
"Sure,'
‚"cried the king, "that foolish thing will strive no more to climb,
When it toils so hard to reach and cling, and tumbles every time.”
Up again it went, inch by inch, higher and higher he got;

And a bold little run at the very last pinch, put him into his native spot.
“Bravo, bravo!" the king cried out, "all honor to those who try:

The spider up there defied despair; he conquered—and why should'nt I?"

Again King Robert roused his soul; and history tells the tale,

That he tried once more,―'twas at Bannockburn,—and that time he did not fail!

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