A woman sat in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread-
Stitch! stitch! stitch!

In poverty, hunger and dirt,

And still with a voice of dolorous pitch,
Would that its tone could reach the rich!-
She sang this "Song of the Shirt."

Thomas Hood.

1

MUD PIES

Down in a little back garden,
Under a sunny sky,

We made mud pies together

My little sweetheart and I.
Stained was the little pink apron,

Muddy the jacket blue,

As we stirred and mixed and tasted,
Out in the sun and dew.

Why do I dream of that garden,

I who am old and wise?

Why am I longing, longing,

For one of those old mud pies?
Oh, for the little pink apron,

Oh, for the jacket blue,

For the blessed faith of childhood

When make-believes are true.

Florence A. Jones.

DADDY KNOWS

Let us dry our tears now, laddie,
Let us put aside our woes;
Let us go and talk to daddy,

For I'm sure that daddy knows.
Let us take him what we've broken,
Be it heart or hope or toy,
And the tale may bide unspoken,
For he used to be a boy.

He has been through all the sorrows
Of a lad at nine or ten;

He has seen the dawn of morrows

When the sun shone bright again;
His own heart has been near breaking,
Oh, more times than I can tell,
And has often known the aching
That a boy's heart knows so well.

I am sure he well remembers,
In his calendar of days,
When the boy-heart was December's,
Though the sun and flowers were May's.

He has lived a boy's life, laddie,

And he knows just how it goes;

Let us go and talk to daddy,

For I'm sure that daddy knows.

Let us tell him all about it,

How the sting of it is there,

And I have not any doubt it
Will be easier to bear;
For he's trodden every byway,
He has fathomed every joy,
He has traveled every highway
In the wide world of a boy.

He will put aside the worries

That his day may follow through,
For the great heart of him hurries
At the call of help from you.
He will help us mend the broken
Heart of ours or hope or toy,
And the tale may bide unspoken-
For he used to be a boy.

By permission.

J. W. Foley.

BECAUSE OF SOME GOOD ACT

Let me today do something that shall take
A little sadness from the world's vast store,
And may I be so favored as to make

Of joy's too scanty sum a little more.

Let me tonight look back across the span

'Twixt dawn and dark, and to my conscience say Because of some good act to beast or man

The world is better that I lived today.

Anon.

THE PAUPER'S DEATHBED

Tread softly-bow the head-in reverent silence bow. No passing bell doth toll; yet an immortal soul

Is passing now.

Stranger! however great, with lowly reverence bow; There's one in that poor shed-one by that paltry bedGreater than thou.

Beneath that beggar's roof, lo! Death doth keep his

state;

Enter-no crowds attend; enter-no guards defend

This palace-gate.

That pavement damp and cold no smiling courtiers tread; One silent woman stands, lifting with meagre hands

A dying head.

No mingling voices sound-an infant wail alone;

A sob suppressed-again that short deep gasp, and then The parting groan.

O change-0 wondrous change! Burst are the prison bars;

This moment there, so low, so agonized, and now

Beyond the stars.

O change stupendous change! There lies the soulless clod:

The sun eternal breaks-the new immortal wakes

Wakes with his God.

Caroline Anne Bowles.

THE DROWNING SINGER

The Sabbath day was ending in a village by the sea,
The uttered benediction touched the people tenderly,
And they rose to face the sunset in the glowing, lighted
west,

And they hastened to their dwellings for God's blessed boon of rest.

But they looked across the waters and a storm was raging there;

A fierce spirit moved above them-the wild spirit of

the air;

And it lashed and shook and tore them, till they thun

dered, groaned and boomed,

And alas for any vessel in their yawning gulfs entombed.

Very anxious were the people on that rocky coast of Wales,

Lest the dawns of coming morrows should be telling awful tales,

When the sea had spent its passion, and should cast upon the shore

Bits of wreck and swollen victims, as it had done heretofore.

With the rough winds blowing round her, a brave woman strained her eyes,

And she saw along the billows a large vessel fall and

rise.