Then, even as warriors grip their brands.

When battle's bolt is hurled,

They close, clenched hard like tightening bands.

No rosebuds yet by dawn impearled
Match, even in loveliest lands,
The sweetest flowers in all the world, —
A baby's hands.

NAE SHOON.

ANONYMOUS.

NAE shoon to hide her tiny tae,
Nae stocking on her feet;
Her supple ankles white as snaw,
Like early blossoms sweet.

Her simple dress of sprinkled pink,
Her double, dimpled chin,
Her puckered lips and balmy mou',
Wi' nae one tooth between.

Her e'en sae like her mither's e'en,
Twa gentle, liquid things;
Her face is like an angel's face,

We're glad she has nae wings.

She is the budding of our love,
A giftie God's gied us;
We munna love the gift o'erweel,
'Twad be nae blessing thus.

WHAT can lambkins do

All the keen night through? Nestle by their woolly mother, The careful ewe.

What can nestlings do

In the nightly dew?

Sleep beneath their mother's wing,

Till day breaks anew.

If in field or tree

There might only be

Such a warm, soft sleeping-place
Found for me!

THE LAMB.

WILLIAM BLAKE.

LITTLE lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee, Gave thee life and bade thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice? Little lamb, who made thee?

Dost thou know who made thee?
Little lamb, I'll tell thee;
Little lamb, I'll tell thee.
He is called by thy name,
For He calls himself a Lamb.
He is meek and He is mild,
He became a little child.
I a child and thou a lamb,
We are called by His name.
Little lamb, God bless thee!
Little lamb, God bless thee!

THE LITTLE ANGEL.

ELIZABETH PRENTISS.

RIGHT into our house one day
A dear little angel came;
I ran to him, and said softly,
"Little angel, what is your name?”

He said not a word in answer,

But smiled a beautiful smile;

Then I said, "May I go home with you? Shall you go in a little while?"

But Mamma said, "Dear little angel,
Don't leave us; oh, always stay!
We will all of us love you dearly;
Sweet angel, oh, don't go away!"

So he staid and he staid, and we love him
As we could not have loved another.
Do you want to know what his name is?
His name is my little brother!

CHILD'S SONG.

ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE.

WHAT is gold worth, say,
Worth for work or play,
Worth to keep or pay,

Hide or throw away,

Hope about or fear?
What is love worth, pray?
Worth a tear?

Golden on the mould

Lie the dead leaves rolled
Of the wet woods old,
Yellow leaves and cold,

Woods without a dove.

Gold is worth but gold;
Love's worth love.

A LITTLE BRAWL.

TRANSLATION OF MARY HOWITT. FROM THE SWEDISH OF F. Bremer.

AT times a little brawl

Injures not at all,

If we only love each other still.

Cloudy heaven clears

Itself and bright appears,

For such is Nature's will.

The heart within its cage

Is a bird in rage,

Which doth madly strive to fly.
Love and Truth can best

Flatter it to rest,

Flatter it to rest right speedily.