And the boy that walked beside me,
He could not understand

Why closer in mine, ah ! closer,
I pressed his warm, soft hand!

LONGFELLOW.

CHILDREN ENTERING HEAVEN.

WHO are they whose little feet, Pacing life's dark journey through, Now have reached that heavenly seat They had ever kept in view? "I from Greenland's frozen land;" " I from India's sultry plain; " "I from Afric's barren sand;" "I from islands of the main." "All our earthly journey past, Every tear and pain gone by, Here together met at last At the portals of the sky; Each the welcome 'COME' awaits, Conquerors over death and sin!" Lift your heads, ye golden gates, Let the little travellers in.

EDMONDSON.

ON SEEING AN INFANT PREPARED FOR THE GRAVE.

Go to thy sleep, my child,

Go to thy dreamless bed,

Gentle and undefiled,

With blessings on thy head;

Fresh roses in thy hand,

Buds on thy pillow laid,
Haste from this fearful land,

Where flowers so quickly fade.

Before thy heart had learned
In waywardness to stray,
Before thy feet had turned
The dark and downward way;
Ere sin had seared thy breast,
Or sorrow woke the tear,
Rise to thy home of rest
In yon celestial sphere.
Because thy smile was fair,
Thy lip and eye so bright;
Because thy cradle-care

Was such a fond delight,
Shall Love, with weak embrace,
Thy outspread wing detain ?

No! Angel, seek thy place

Amid the cherub train.

MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY.

THE LITTLE BOY THAT DIED.

I AM all alone in my chamber now,

And the midnight hour is near,

And the fagot's crack, and the clock's dull tick,

Are the only sounds I hear;

And over my soul, in its solitude,

Sweet feelings of sadness glide;

For my heart and my eyes are full, when I think Of the little boy that died.

I went one night to my father's house -
Went home to the dear ones all,
And softly I opened the garden gate,
And softly the door of the hall.
My mother came out to meet her son,
She kissed me, and then she sighed,
And her head fell on my neck, and she wept
For her little boy that died.

And when I gazed on his innocent face,

As still and cold he lay,

And thought what a lovely child he had been,

And how soon he must decay;

"Oh death, thou lovest the beautiful,"

In the woe of my spirit I cried,

For sparkled the eyes, and the forehead was fair,

Of the little boy that died!

Again I will go to my father's house
Go home to the dear ones all,

And sadly I'll open the garden gate,
And sadly the door of the hall.
I shall meet my mother, but never more
With her darling by her side;
But she'll kiss me, and sigh and weep again
For the little boy that died.

I shall miss him when the flowers come
In the garden where he played;
I shall miss him more by the fire-side,
When the flowers have all decayed.
I shall see his toys and his empty chair,
And the horse he used to ride;
And they will speak, with a silent speech,
Of the little boy that died.

I shall see his little sister again

With her playmates about the door, And I'll watch the children in their sports, As I never did before;

And if in the group I see a child
That's dimpled and laughing-eye

I'll look to see if it may not be
The little boy that died.

We shall all go home to our Father's houseTo our Father's house in the skies,

Where the hope of our soul shall have no blight, And our love no broken ties;

We shall roam on the banks of the River of

Peace,

And bathe in its blissful tide:

And one of the joys of our heaven shall be
The little boy that died !

And, therefore, when I am sitting alone,
And the midnight hour is near,

When the fagot's crack and the clock's dull tick
Are the only sounds I hear, -

Oh sweet o'er my soul in its solitude

Are the feelings of sadness that glide; Though my heart and my eyes are full, when I

think

Of the little boy that died.

JOSHUA D. ROBINSON.

OH! the lost, the unforgotten,

Though the world be oft forgot;
Oh! the shrouded and the lonely,
In our hearts they perish not.