OUR WEE WHITE ROSE.

ALL in our marriage garden
Grew, smiling up to God,
A bonnier flower than ever

Suck'd the green warmth of the sod;
O, beautiful unfathomably

Its little life unfurled;

And crown of all things was our wee
White Rose of all the world.

From out a balmy bosom

Our bud of beauty grew;
It fed on smiles for sunshine;
On tears for daintier dew:
Aye nestling warm and tenderly,
Our leaves of love were curled,
So close and close, about our wee
White Rose of all the world.

With mystical faint fragrance

Our house of life she fill'd — Revealed each hour some fairy tower Where winged hopes might build! We saw-though none like us might seeSuch precious promise pearled

Upon the petals of our wee

White Rose of all the world.

But, evermore the halo

Of angel-light increased,
Like the mystery of moonlight
That folds some fairy feast.
Snow-white, snow-soft, snow-silently,

Our darling bud up-curled,

And dropt i' the grave― God's lap — our

wee

White Rose of all the world.

Our rose was but in blossom;
Our life was but in spring;
When down the solemn midnight
We heard the spirits sing-
“Another bud of infancy

With holy dews impearled!"
And in their hands they bore our wee
White Rose of all the world.

You scarce could think so small a thing
Could leave a loss so large;

Her little light such shadow fling

From dawn to sunset's marge.

In other springs our life

may

be

In bannered bloom unfurled, But never, never match our wee White Rose of all the world.

GERALD MASSEY.

THE HAPPY BAND.

AROUND the throne of God in heaven,

Thousands of children stand

Children whose sins are all forgiven,

A holy, happy band,

Singing, Glory, glory.

In flowing robes of spotless white,
See every one arrayed;
Dwelling in everlasting light,

And joys that never fade,
Singing, Glory, glory.

What brought them to that world above?
That heaven so bright and fair,
Where all is peace, and joy, and love;
How came those children there?
Singing, Glory, glory.

Because the Saviour shed his blood,
To wash away their sin;

Bathed in that pure and precious flood,

Behold them white and clean,

Singing, Glory, glory.

COMFORT.

'BOATMAN, boatman !

my

brain is wild,

As wild as the rainy seas;

My poor little child, my sweet little child,
Is a corpse upon my knees.

No holy choir to sing so low-
No priest to kneel in prayer,
No tire-woman to help me sew
cap for his golden hair.”

A

Dropping his oars in the rainy sea,
The pious boatman cried,
"Not without Him who is life to thee,
Could the little child have died!

"His grace the same, and the same His power,
Demanding our love and trust,
Whether He makes of the dust a flower,
Or changes a flower to dust.

"On the land and the water, all in all,
The strength to be still, or pray,
To blight the leaves in their time to fall,
Or light up the hills with May.”

ALICE CAREY.

LEAVE THE RESULT WITH GOD.

SUPPOSE, now, there should be a mother, always uneasy and solicitous about her child, when it was in health, or sitting over it when in sickness, restless and anxious, trying this remedy, and that, without reason and without hope, just because she cannot give him up; suppose, I say, that God should come to the bedside, and say to her, "Anxious mother, -I was taking care of your child, but since you are so restless and uneasy about it, I will give the case up to you, if you will take it. There is a great question to be decided;-shall that child recover, or die? I was going to decide it in the best way for yourself and him. But since you cannot trust me, you may decide it yourself. Look upon him, then, as he lies there suffering, and then look forward as far as you can into futurity; see as much as you can of his life here, if you allow him to live; and look forward to eternity, to his eternity and yours. Get all the light you can, and then tell me whether you are really ready to take the responsibility of deciding the question, whether he shall live or die. Since you are not willing to allow me to decide it, I will leave you to decide it yourself."