This dream he carried in a hopeful spirit Until in death his patient eye grew dim, And his Redeemer called him to inherit The heaven of wealth long garnered up for him.

So, if I ever win the home in heaven
For whose sweet rest I humbly hope and
pray,

In the great company of the forgiven
I shall be sure to find old Daniel Gray.

BABYHOOD

WHAT is the little one thinking about?
Very wonderful things, no doubt!
Unwritten history!
Unfathomed mystery!

Yet he laughs and cries, and eats and drinks,

And chuckles and crows, and nods and winks,

As if his head were as full of kinks
And curious riddles as any sphinx!

Warped by colic, and wet by tears,
Punctured by pins, and tortured by
fears,

Our little nephew will lose two years;
And he'll never know

Where the summers go;-
He need not laugh, for he'll find it so !

Who can tell what a baby thinks?
Who can follow the gossamer links

By which the manikin feels his way Out from the shore of the great unknown, Blind, and wailing, and alone,

Into the light of day?

Out from the shore of the unknown sea,
Tossing in pitiful agony,

Of the unknown sea that reels and rolls,
Specked with the barks of little souls
Barks that were launched on the other side,
And slipped from Heaven on an ebbing tide!

What does he think of his mother's
eyes?

What does he think of his mother's hair ?
What of the cradle-roof that flies
Forward and backward through the air?
What does he think of his mother's
breast

Bare and beautiful, smooth and white,
Seeking it ever with fresh delight -

Cup of his life and couch of his rest?

What does he think when her quick embrace

Presses his hand and buries his face
Deep where the heart-throbs sink and swell
With a tenderness she can never tell,
Though she murmur the words
Of all the birds

Words she has learned to murmur well?
Now he thinks he 'll go to sleep!
I can see the shadow creep
Over his eyes, in soft eclipse,
Over his brow, and over his lips,
Out to his little finger-tips!
Softly sinking, down he goes!
Down he goes! Down he goes!
See! He is hushed in sweet repose!

There's a tumult of joy
O'er the wonderful birth,
For the virgin's sweet boy
Is the Lord of the earth.

Ay ! the star rains its fire and the Beautiful sing,

For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a king.

In the light of that star
Lie the ages impearled;
And that song from afar
Has swept over the world.

Every hearth is aflame, and the Beautiful

sing

In the homes of the nations that Jesus is King.

We rejoice in the light,

And we echo the song

That comes down through the night
From the heavenly throng.

Ay! we shout to the lovely evangel they bring,

And we greet in his cradle our Saviour and King.