Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her head.

She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad;
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;-
Her beauty made me glad.

"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."
She answered, "Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea;

"Two of us in the churchyard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And, in the churchyard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother."

"You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,

Yet ye are seven! I pray you tell,
Sweet maid, how this may be."

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;
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the churchyard laid,
Then ye are only five."

"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 there upon the ground I sit,
And sing a song to them.

"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;
In bed she moaning lay,

Till God released her of her pain;
And then she went away.

"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,
And he lies by her side."

"How many are you, then," said I,
"If they two are in heaven?"
Quick was the little maid's reply!
"O Master! we are seven.'

"But they are dead; those two are dead!
Their spirits are in heaven!"

"T was throwing words away; for still
The little maid would have her will,
And said, "Nay, we are seven.”

THE BEAUTIFUL GATE

AUTHOR UNKNOWN

When mysterious whispers are floating about,
And voices that will not be still

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,
In the land of the good I shall see:
Will any of these at the beautiful gate
Be waiting and watching for me?

There are old and forsaken, who linger awhile
In the homes which their dearest have left,
And an action of love and a few gentle words
Might cheer the sad spirit bereft;

But the reaper is near to the long-standing corn,
The weary shall soon be set free;

Will any of these at the beautiful gate
Be waiting and watching for me?

There are little ones glancing about on my path
In need of a friend or a guide;

There are dim little eyes looking up into mine,
Whose tears could be easily dried;

But Jesus may beckon the children away
In the midst of their grief or their glee:

Will any of them at the beautiful gate
Be waiting and watching for me?

I may be brought there by the manifold grace
Of the Saviour who loved to forgive,

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?
And what do they mean by gray?"
Was heard from the lips of a little child,
As she bounded in from play.

The mother's eyes filled up with tears:
She turned to her darling fair,

And smoothed away from the sunny brow
Its treasures of golden hair.

"Why, mother's eyes are blue, my sweet,
And grandpa's hair is gray;

And the love we bear our darling child,
Grows stronger every day."

"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;
The other, he fought for the gray.

"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;
And the arm, on Malvern Hill.

"They sat on the stones by the farm-yard gate, And talked for an hour or more,