DEATH OF THE FIRST BORN.

YOUNG mother, he is gone!

His dimpled cheek no more will touch thy breast; No more the music-tone

Float from his lips, to thine all fondly pressed; His smiles and happy laugh are lost to thee : Earth must his mother and his pillow be.

His was the morning hour,

And he hath passed in beauty from the day,
A bud, not yet a flower,

Torn, in its sweetness, from the parent spray;
The death-wind swept him to his soft repose,
As frost, in spring-time, blights the early rose.

Never on earth again

Will his rich accents charm thy listening ear,

Like some Æolian strain,
Breathing at eventide serene and clear;
His voice is choked in dust, and on his eyes
The unbroken seal of peace and silence lies.

And from thy yearning heart, Whose inmost core was warm with love for him, A gladness must depart,

And those kind eyes with many tears be dim;

While lonely memories, an unceasing train,
Will turn the raptures of the past to pain.

Yet, mourner, while the day

Rolls like the darkness of a funeral by,
And hope forbids one ray
To stream athwart the grief-discolored sky,
There breaks upon thy sorrow's evening gloom
A trembling lustre from beyond the tomb.

'T is from the better land!

There, bathed in radiance that around them springs,

Thy loved one's wings expand; As with the choiring cherubim he sings, And all the glory of that God can see, Who said, on earth, to children, "Come to me."

Mother, thy child is blessed;

And though his presence may be lost to thee,
And vacant leave thy breast,
And missed, a sweet load from thy parent knee;
Though tones familiar from thine ear have

passed,

Thou 'lt meet thy first-born with his Lord at

THE DEATH OF DAVID'S CHILD.

And the Lord struck the child that Uriah's wife bare unto David, and it was very sick. David therefore besought God for the child; and David fasted, and went in, and lay all night upon the earth. And the elders of his house arose, and went to him, to raise him up from the earth: but he would not, neither did he eat bread with them.

And it came to pass on the seventh day, that the child died. And the servants of David feared to tell him that the child was dead: for they said, "Behold, while the child was yet alive, we spake unto him, and he would not hearken unto our voice: how will he then vex himself, if we tell him that the child is dead?"

But when David saw that his servants whispered, David perceived that the child was dead: therefore David said unto his servants, "Is the child dead?" And they said, "He is dead." Then David arose from the earth, and washed, and anointed himself, and changed his apparel, and came into the house of the Lord, and worshipped: then he came to his own house; and when he required, they set bread before him, and he did eat.

Then said his servants unto him, "What thing is this that thou has done? thou didst fast and weep for the child, while it was alive; but when the child was dead, thou didst rise and eat bread." And he said, "While the child was yet alive, I fasted and wept: for I said, Who can tell whether God will be gracious to me, that the child may live?' But now he is dead, wherefore should I fast? can I bring him back again? I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me." - Second Book of Samuel.

A SHORT LIFE MAY BE A PERFECT ONE.

IT is not growing like a tree

In bulk, doth make man better be,

Or standing long an oak, three hundred year,
To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sear.

A lily of a day

Is fairer far, in May,

Although it fall and die that night,
It was the plant and flower of light!
In small proportions we just beauties see :
And in short measures life may perfect be.

BEN JONSON.

THE MOTHER'S SACRIFICE.

"WHAT shall I render Thee, Father Supreme, For thy rich gifts, and this the best of all?" Said the young mother, as she fondly watched Her sleeping babe. There was an answering

voice

That night in dreams :

"Thou hast a tender flower

Upon thy breast-fed with the dews of love:

Send me that flower.

heaven."

Such flowers there are in

But there was silence. Yea, a hush so deep,
Breathless and terror-stricken, that the lip

Blanched in its trance.

"Thou hast a little harp,

How sweetly would it swell the angel's hymn!

Yield me that harp."

There rose a shuddering sob,

As if the bosom by some hidden sword

Was cleft in twain.

Morn came - a blight had found

The crimson velvet of the unfolding bud,

The harp-strings rang a thrilling strain, and

broke

And that young mother lay upon the earth
In childless agony. Again the voice

That stirred her vision: