Oh, look! the sun begins to rise, the heav- | And the wicked cease from troubling, and ens are in a glow; He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of them I know. And there I move no longer now, and there his light may shine Wild flowers in the valley for other hands than mine. Oh, sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done The voice, that now is speaking, may be beyond the sun, For ever and for ever with those just souls and true; the weary are at rest. ALFRED TENNYSON. A FAREWELL. My fairest child, I have no song to give you; No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray; Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you For every day. And what is life that we should moan? Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be why make we such ado? For ever and for ever, all in a blessed home, clever; Do noble things, not dream them, all day long; And there to wait a little while till you And so make life, death, and that vast for and Effie come, To lie within the light of God, as I lie ever One grand, sweet song. CHARLES KINGSLEY. upon your breast, The lillies Hossone in the pond the sea. The winds to seat wilt birch and a A sweeter memory And there an spricey the viaries sug song of Solig ago, The 'Twas there she nursed me; 'twas there None like a mother can charm away pain she died: And Memory flows with lava tide. While the scalding drops start down my cheek; But I love it, I love it; and cannot tear My soul from a mother's old arm-chair. ELIZA COOK. ROCK ME TO SLEEP. From the sick soul and the world-weary brain. Slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy lids creep ; Rock me to sleep, mother,-rock me to sleep! Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold, Fall on your shoulders again as of old; BACKWARD, turn backward, O Time, in Shading my faint eyes away from the light; your flight, Make me a child again just for to-night! Mother, come back from the echoless shore, Take me again to your heart as of yore; Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care, Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair; Over my slumbers your loving watch keep ; Rock me to sleep, mother,-rock me to sleep! For with its sunny-edged shadows once more Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore; Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep;― Rock me to sleep, mother,-rock me to sleep! Mother, dear mother, the years have been long Since I last listen'd your lullaby song: Backward, flow backward, O tide of the Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem years! I am so weary of toil and of tears,— Toil without recompense, tears all in vain, Take them, and give me my childhood again! I have grown weary of dust and decay,Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away; Weary of sowing for others to reap ;Rock me to sleep, mother,-rock me to sleep! Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue, Mother! O mother! my heart calls for you! Many a summer the grass has grown green, Blossom'd, and faded our faces between, Womanhood's years have been only a dream. Clasp'd to your heart in a loving embrace, With your light lashes just sweeping my face, Never hereafter to wake or to weep ;Rock me to sleep, mother,-rock me to sleep! ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN. THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET. How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view! Yet with strong yearning and passionate The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled pain Long I to-night for your presence again. Come from the silence so long and so deep ; Rock me to sleep, mother, -rock me to sleep! Over my heart, in the days that are flown, No love like mother-love ever has shone; No other worship abides and endures,— Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours: wild wood, |