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"For he, who had promised her lot to bless,
Had made it a thorny wilderness,
Forgetting his marriage vow.
The demon entered that peaceful home,
And stalked with remorseless tread;
But she bore it all with woman's trust
Till her last, last hope had fled, ---
Till the child of her love, by an angel borne,

"Went home where no tears are shed.
The father gazed on the pale, sweet face
Of the babe, so still and fair;
In its little hand was an opening bud:
Dear mamma had placed it there.
He stood and gazed on its pale, sweet face,
And his noble nature stirred.
And the man of God from a mission came

"To read from the Holy Word.
He read of the tears the Saviour shed
O'er the grave where Lazarus slept;
A chord was touched in the father's breast,
And he bowed his head and wept.
'Twas a touching scene, aye, a touching scene,
I remembered it many a day,
How he knelt him down by his stricken wife,

"And asked the goodly man to pray:
But still he knelt with a firm resolve
And promised then and there
By the grace of God and the pastor's prayer
He never would drink again.
I have seen the altars with mourners filled,
And they gave their hearts to God:
I have seen them look with a shudder, back

"To the path they once had trod.
And many a picture bright I've seen
At merry Christmas time;
When the bells rang out, 'Good will to men,'
With clear and silver chime.
Good will to men through the Saviour's birth --
Oh, precious truth sublime.
And now I have come to my closing hour,

"My task is well nigh done;
And 1880 must soon give place to 1881.
Faster and faster the moments bring
The end of my brief career;
I shall soon be gone, and a happy song
Will welcome the new-born year.
'Do good, do good, for the Master's sake'
Is the message I leave to all;

"Be sure you are ready whene'er he comes,
To answer the Master's call."
And the old year passed from my wondering eyes
Through the veil of light serene;
And a record he bore to eternity's shore
Of all that he had heard and seen.

FOR THE DEDICATION OF A CHURCH

Eternal God of ages,
And source of boundless love,
We praise Thee for Thy mercies,
That crown us from above.
Our pleasant task completed
With joyful eyes we see;
And now our earthly temple
We consecrate to Thee.

Accept our cheerful offering,
And may this holy day,
Be one whose tender memory
Will never fade away.
O, fill us with Thy Spirit,
And may our faith behold
The glory-cloud descending,
And resting, as of old.

Receive our cheerful offering
From loyal hearts and true,
Who labored, prayed and trusted,
Although in number few.
Thy promise gave us courage;
And now with joy we see
Our work begun, continued, And ended, Lord, in Thee.

TO OUR MOTHER ON HER EIGHTY-NINTH BIRTHDAY

Tender thoughts their spell are weaving,
Hallowed memories round us twine,
'Tis the birthday of our mother,
And her years are eighty-nine;
Years that fraught with many changes
Came and went as flies a dream,
Came and went as speeds an arrow,
Or a meteor's flashing beam.
But her eye retains a lustre,
And her face a genial glow,
That illumines every feature,
With the smile of long ago;
And we fancy that the autumn
Of her life is waning now,
And forget the winter's snowflakes,
Resting gently on her brow.
Mother's birthday, and her children
Three in number, all are here,
From the sunny past recalling
Words of love we still revere.
Four grandchildren grace our circle,
Breathing wishes kind and true,
Mother's joy to make still brighter,
See! her great-grandchildren, too.
But our hearts must pause a moment
O'er the missing ones to mourn:
Where are William, Lee and Byron,
Will those dear ones ne'er return?
Will our mother's birthday never
Bring them back to us again?
We shall listen for their footsteps,
We shall watch for them in vain;
But the voice of Him who suffered,
And hath risen from the tomb,
Gives us comfort in our sorrow,
Whispers hope beyond the gloom.
O, the bliss of sweet reunion,
When the last wild storm is o'er,
When our souls have braved the tempest,
And our bark has reached the shore.
Mother's birthday! God reward her
For her gentle, patient care,
May He light the path before her
Is the burden of our prayer;
And may all who now are gathered
On this happy eve so bright,
Meet at last beyond the river,
Where they never say, "Good night!"

1888

OUR BEAUTIFUL BABY CLARE
(Dedicated to the memory of my little niece, Clare Hope, daughter of Mr. Albert E. and Mrs. Clara O. Morris, who passed away July 1, 1891.)

Silently came the angel,
A white-robed angel fair,
And carried away our darling,
Our beautiful Baby Clare,

Carried her home to the song-land
To dwell in its blissful bowers,
And play with the infant cherubs,
Who gather its fadeless flowers.

Silently came the angel,
And whispered in accents clear,
"I bring you a balm of comfort
Your sorrowing hearts to cheer;
God spareth the wife and mother
In answer to earnest prayer,
But taketh where she may follow
Her beautiful Baby Clare."

We know not the unseen future,
'Tis wisely from us concealed,
We know not the way before us,
But this hath our Lord revealed:
Through clouds that may seem the darkest
There shineth a radiance bright,
That maketh each tear a jewel
To sparkle in God's own light.