That ere long, with darkened eye,
Sleeping to no lullaby,

Whitely robed, and still, and cold,
Pale flowers slipping from its hold,
Shall this dainty couch enfold?

Ah! what bitter tears shall stain
All this satin sheet like rain,
And what towering hopes be hid
'Neath this tiny coffin lid,
Scarcely large enough to bear
Little words that must be there,
Little words, cut deep and true,
Bleeding mothers' hearts anew—
Sweet, pet name, and "AGED Two!"

Oh! can sorrow's hovering plume
Round our pathway cast a gloom,
Chill and darksome as the shade
By an infant's coffin made!
From our arms an angel flies,
And our startled, dazzled eyes,
Weeping round its vacant place,
Cannot rise its path to trace,
Cannot see the angel face!

THE LAW OF THE LIPS.

Speak kindly to thy fellow-man,
Lest he should die, while yet
The bitter accents wring his heart
And make his pale cheek wet,

Speak tenderly to him; for he
Hath many toils to bear
And he is weak, and often sighs-
As thou dost-under care.

Speak lovingly to him; he is
A brother of thine own:
He well may claim thy sympathies,
Who's bone of thine own bone.

Speak meekly to him; he may be
A holier man than thou,
And fitting it may be for thee
To him with reverence bow.

Speak solemnly to him; for thou
And he must surely meet,
To make account for idle words,
Before the judgment-seat.

Speak faithfully to him; thy word

May touch him deep within, And save his erring soul from death, And cover o'er his sin!

MIDNIGHT MUSIC.

MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY.

"The Rev. Mr. George Herbert, in one of his walks to Salisbury, to join a musical society, saw a poor man with a poorer horse, that had fallen under his load. Putting off his canonical coat, he helped him to unload, and afterwards to load his horse. The poor man blessed him for it, and he blessed the poor man. And so like was he to the good Samaritan, that he gave him money to refresh both himself and his horse, at the same time admonishing him that if he loved himself he should be merciful to his beast.'

"So, leaving the poor man, and coming unto his musical friends at Salisbury, they began to wonder, that Mr. George Herbert, who used always to be so trim and clean, should come into that company so soiled and discomposed; but he told them the reason, and one of them said to him, he had disparaged himself by so mean an employment,' his answer was, that the thought of what he had done would prove music to him at midnight, and that the omission of it would have made discord in his conscience, whenever he should pass by that place.' 'For if,' said he, 'I am bound to pray for all who are in distress, I am surely bound, as far as it is in my power, to practice what I pray for. And though I do not wish for the occasion every day, yet, let me tell you, I would not willingly pass one day of my life, without comforting a sad soul, or showing mercy; and I bless God for this opportunity. So now, let us tune our instruments.""]

What maketh music when the bird
Doth hush its merry lay,

And the sweet spirit of the flowers
Hath sigh'd itself away?
What maketh music, when the frost
Doth chain the murmuring rill,
And every song that summer woke
In winter's trance is still?

What maketh music, when the winds
To hoarse encounter rise,

When Ocean strikes his thunder-gong
And the rent cloud replies ?
When no adventurous planet dares
The midnight arch to deck,
And in its startling dream the babe
Doth clasp its mother's neck?

And when the fiercer storms of life
Do o'er the pilgrim sweep,
And earthquake voices claim the hopes
He treasured long and deep,

When loud the threatening passions roar,

Like lions in their den,

And vengeful tempests lash the shore,
What maketh music then?

The deed to humble Virtue born,
Which nursing memory taught

To shun the boastful world's applause,
And love the lowly thought,

This builds a cell within the heart,

Amid the weeds of care,

And tuning high its heaven-strung harp, Doth make sweet music there.

WILLIE AND THE BIRDS.

A TRUE STORY.

A little black-eyed boy of five

Thus spake to his mamma : "Do look at all the pretty birds; How beautiful they are!

How smooth and glossy are their wings

How beautiful their hue;

Besides, mamma, I really think
That they are PIOUS too."

Why so, my dear?" the mother said, And scarce suppressed a smileThe answer showed a thoughtful head, A heart quite free from guile; "Because, when each one bows his head, His tiny bill to wet,

To lift a thankful glance above,

He never does forget;