A baby was sleeping, its mother was weeping,

For her husband was far on the wild, raging sea; And the tempest was swelling round the fisherman's

dwelling,

And she cried, "Dermot, darling, oh! come back to

me."

Her beads while she numbered, the baby still slumbered, And smiled in her face while she bended her knee. "Oh! blessed be that warning, my child, thy sleep adorning,

For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.

"And while they are keeping bright watch o'er thy sleeping,

Oh! pray to them softly, my baby, with me;

And say thou wouldst rather they'd watch o'er thy father, For I know that the angels are whispering with thee."

The dawn of the morning saw Dermot returning,

And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see; And closely caressing her child, with a blessing, Said, "I knew that the angels were whispering with

thee."

LOVER.

I love it

I love it, and who shall dare

To chide me for loving that old arm-chair!

I've treasured it long as a sainted prize

I've bedewed it with tears, I've embalmed it with sighs;

'Tis bound by a thousand bands to my heart, Not a tie will break, not a link will start. Would you learn the spell?

a mother sat there,

And a sacred thing is that old arm-chair.

In childhood's hour I lingered near
The hallowed seat with listening ear;

And gentle words that mother would give,
To fit me to die, and teach me to live.

She told me shame would never betide,

With truth for my creed, and God for my Guide; She taught me to lisp my earliest prayer

As I knelt beside that old arm-chair.

I sat and watched her many a day,

When her eyes grew dim and her locks were gray, And I almost worshipped her when she smiled And turned from her Bible to bless her child.

Years rolled on, and the last one sped,

My idol was shattered

my earth-star fled:

I learnt how much the heart can bear

When I saw her die in that old arm-chair.

ELIZA COOK.

194

GRANDPAPA.

GRANDPAPA.

Grandpapa's hair is very white,
And grandpapa walks but slow;
He likes to sit still in his easy-chair,
While the children come and go.
"Hush! - play quietly," says mamma ;
"Let nobody trouble dear grandpapa."

Grandpapa's hand is thin and weak,
It has worked hard all his days:

A strong right hand and an honest hand,
That has won all good men's praise.
"Kiss it tenderly," says mamma ;
"Let every one honor grandpapa."

Grandpapa's eyes are growing dim;

They have looked on sorrow and death;
But the love-light never went out of them,
Nor the courage and the faith.

"You children, all of you," says mamma,
"Have need to look up to dear grandpapa."