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Where the souls of the good and the gentle who die,

Assemble together in bliss ;
And the rays that they shed o'er the earth is the light

Of His glory whose throne is above,
That tell us, who dwell in these regions of night,

How great is His goodness and love." “Then, father, why still press your hand to your brow,

Why still are your cheeks pale with care ? If all that was gentle be dwelling there now,

Dear mother, I know, must be there." “Thou chidest me well,” said the father with pain,

“Thy wisdom is greater by far, We may mourn for the loss, but we should not complain,

While we gaze on each beautiful star."

66

ROCK ME TO SLEEP, MOTHER.”

ANONYMOUS.

BACKWARD, turn backward, oh! Time in your flight;
Make me a child again, just for to-night;
Mother, come back from that echoless shore,
Take me again to your heart as of yore.
Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care,
Smooth the few ver threads out from my hair,
Over my slumbers your loving watch keep ;-
Rock me to sleep, mother! Rock me to sleep!

Backward, turn backward, oh! tide of years,
I have grown weary of toil and of tears;
Toil, without recompense, tears all in vain,
Take them and give me childhood again!
I have grown weary of dust and decay,
Weary of throwing my soul's health away;
Weary of sowing for others to reap;
Rock me to sleep, mother! Rock me to sleep!

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Over my heart in the days that are flown,
No love like a mother's love ever has shone;
No other worship abides and endures,
Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours;
None like a mother can soothe away pain
From the pleasure-sick soul and the world-weary brain;
Slumber's sweet calm o'er my heavy lids creep;-
Rock me to sleep, mother! Rock me to sleep!
Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue,
Mother, oh! mother, my heart calls for you;
Many a summer the grass has grown green,
Blossom'd and faded, our faces between;
Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain,
Long I to-night for your presence again;
Come from your silence so long and so deep
Rock me to sleep, mother! Rock me to sleep!

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Come, let your brown hair just shaded with gold,
Fall on your shoulders again as of old;
Let it drop over my forehead to-night,
Shading my faint eyes away from the light;
For, with its sunny-edged shadows once more,
Haply will rise 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 seem'd long
Since last I heard your soft lullaby song ;
Sing then, and unto my soul it shall seem,
Womanhood's years have been only a dream;
Clasp'd to your heart in a loving embrace,
With your long lashes just shading my face;
Never hereafter to wake or to weep, —
Rock me to sleep, mother! Rock me to sleep!

“I WOULDN'T-WOULD YOU ?”

ANONYMOUS.

WHEN a lady is seen at a party or ball,

Her eyes vainly turn'd in her fits of conceit, As she peers at the gentlemen, fancying all Are enchain’d by her charms and would kneel at her

feet, With each partner coquetting, -to nobody true;I wouldn't give much for her chances !-would you ? When an upstart is seen on the flags strutting out,

With his hat cock'd aslant, and a glass in his eye : And thick clouds of foul smoke he stands puffing about, As he inwardly says,

“ What a noble am I,”While he twists his moustache for the ladies to view ;I wouldn't give much for his senses would you?

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When a wife runs about at her neighbours to pry,

Leaving children at home, unprotected to play; Till she starts back in haste at the sound of their cry;

And finds they've been fighting while mother's away; Sugar eaten-panes broken-the wind blowing through; I wouldn't give much for her comfort !-would you?

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When a husband is idle, neglecting his work,
In the public-house, snarling with quarrelsome

knaves; When he gambles with simpletons, drinks like a Turk, While his good wife at home for the poor children

slaves; And that home is quite destitute-painful to view ;I wouldn't give much for his morals:--would you ? When a boy at his school, lounging over his seat,

Sits rubbing his head, and neglecting his book, While he fumbles his pockets, for something to eat, Yet pretendeth to read when his master may look,

Though he boasts to his parents how much he can do;
I wouldn't give much for his progress :—would you ?
When a man who is driving a horse on the road,
Reins and whips the poor brute, with unmerciful

hand,
Whilst it willingly strives to haste on with its load,

Till with suff'ring and working it scarcely can stand : Though he may be a man,—and a wealthy one too, I wouldn't give much for his feelings :-would you ? When a master who lives by his labourers' skill, Hoards his gold up in thousands still craving for

more, Though poor are his toilers he grindeth them still,

Or, unfeelingly turns them away from his door; Though he banketh his millions with claims not a few, I wouldn't give much for his conscience :—would you ? When a tradesman his neighbour's fair terms will

decry, And keeps puffing his goods at a wonderful rate ;E'en at prices at which no fair trader can buy ;

Though customers flock to him early and late ;When a few months have fled, and large bills become

due, I wouldn't give much for his credit :-would you ? When in murderous deeds a man's hands are imbrued,

Tho' revenge is his plea, and the crime is conceald, The severe stings of conscience will quickly intrude,

And the mind, self-accusing, can never be heal'd ;When the strong arm of justice sets out to pursue, I wouldn't give much for his freedom :-would you? When a husband and wife keep their secrets apart,

Not a word to my spouse about this, or on that ; When a trifle may banish the pledge of their heart,

And he naggles,-she snaggles ;-—both contradict

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flat;

Tho' unequallid their love when its first blossoms

blew;

I wouldn't give much for their quiet :--Would you ?

When a man who has lived here for none but himself, Feels laid on his strong frame the cold hand of

death, When all fade away,--wife, home, pleasures, and pelf, And he yields back to God both his soul and his

breath ; As up to the judgment that naked soul flew,I wouldn't give much for his Heaven!

--would you ?

THE CRICKET ON THE HEARTH.

Rev. THOMAS COLE.

SPRIGHTLY Cricket, chirking still
Merry music, short and shrill;
In
my

kitchen take thy rest
As a truly welcome guest;
For no evils shall betide
Those with whom thou dost reside.
Nor shall thy good-omen'd strain
E'er salute my ear in vain.
With the best I can invent
I'll requite the compliment;
Like thy sonnets, I'll repay
Little sonnets, quick and gay.
Thou, a harmless inmate deem'd,
And by housewives much esteem'd,
Wilt not pillage for thy diet,
Nor deprive us of our quiet;
Like the horrid rat voracious;
Or the lick’rish mouse sagacious;
Like the herd of vermin base,
Or the pilf'ring reptile race:

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