Her hair was thick with many a curl She had a rustic, woodland air, "Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be?" "How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me. "And where are they? I pray you tell." "Two of us in the churchyard lie, "You say that two at Conway dwell, Yet ye are seven! I pray you tell, Then did the little maid reply, "Seven boys and girls are we; Two of us in the churchyard lie Beneath the churchyard tree." "You run about, my little maid; "Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little maid replied: "Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, And they are side by side. "My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hem; "And often after sunset, sir, When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer And eat my supper there. "The first that died was Sister Jane; Till God released her of her pain; "So in the churchyard she was laid; And, when the grass was dry, Together round her grave we played, My brother John and I. "And when the ground was white with snow. And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go, "How many are you, then," said I, "But they are dead; those two are dead! "T was throwing words away; for still THE BEAUTIFUL GATE AUTHOR UNKNOWN When mysterious whispers are floating about, Shall summon me hence from the slippery shore To the waves that are silent and still; When I look with changed eyes at the home of the blest, Far out of the reach of the sea, Will any one stand at that beautiful gate Waiting and watching for me? There are friendless and suffering strangers around, There are tempted and poor I must meet; There are dear ones at home I may bless with my love, There are wretched ones pacing the street; There are many unthought of, whom, happy and blest, There are old and forsaken, who linger awhile But the reaper is near to the long-standing corn, Will any of these at the beautiful gate There are little ones glancing about on my path There are dim little eyes looking up into mine, But Jesus may beckon the children away Will any of them at the beautiful gate I may be brought there by the manifold grace Though I bless not the hungry ones near to my side, Only pray for myself while I live; But I think I should mourn o'er my selfish neglect, If sorrow in heaven can be, If no one should stand at that beautiful gate Waiting and v atching for me! BLUE AND GRAY AUTHOR UNKNOWN "O mother! what do they mean by blue? The mother's eyes filled up with tears: And smoothed away from the sunny brow "Why, mother's eyes are blue, my sweet, And the love we bear our darling child, "But what did they mean?" persisted the child: "For I saw two cripples to-day; And one of them said he fought for the blue; "Now, he of the blue had lost a leg; The other had but one arm: And both seemed worn and weary and sad; Yet their greeting was kind and warm. They told of battles in days gone by, Till it made my young blood thrill: The leg was lost in the Wilderness fight; "They sat on the stones by the farm-yard gate, And talked for an hour or more, |