THE EMPTY CRADLE.

ESIDE an empty cradle sat

A youthful mother fair;

But a few short days had pass'd away

Since a baby form slept there.

And she had sat by that cradle oft

With a mother's pride and joy,

And thank'd her God for His precious gift
Of her " own sweet baby-boy."

Ah! but too well she remember'd her babe,

With its lovely angel smile,

Its mirth and playfulness which did

Her lonely hours beguile.

And that mother sat in silent grief,

And not one word spake she;

She wrung her hands and compress'd her lips,

For keen was her agony.

The Empty Cradle.

And she sat by that cradle, lone and still,
With vacant, wandering eye;

And oft she utter'd, in murmuring tones,

"Why did my baby die?"

But that mother sat by that cradle no more;
Though pale and wan was she,

The struggle was o'er, her mind was calm,
And her heart from sorrow free.

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For she had learn'd that her Father in heaven
Had come in mercy and love,

And taken her babe, from a world of sin,
To dwell in bright mansions above.

And whenever that mother kneels in prayer,

She feels a heavenly joy;

And she blesses her Father in heaven, who took own sweet baby-boy."

Her 66

DISTRESS AT SEA.

E are on the ocean lonely,
And Heaven can help us only;
For the sleet and snow

Around us blow,

And God can guide us only.

Speed the vessel slowly,

Speak in accents lowly,

Our vessel, we fear,

The rocks is near,

And we may perish wholly.

Is yon some welcome land,

Or ominous shifting sand,
Rearing its head

From the ocean bed,

At death's dread command?

Distress at Sea.

We have sail'd all night so drearily,
Perplex'd, fatigued, and wearily,

O God! where shall we steer?
Our compass-needles.veer;
Fast falls the drifting snow;
'Midst keen suspense and woe
We know not where to go,-
God help us cheerily.

The dark horizon clears,
Ho! yonder a light appears;

But its pale, pale gleam

Throws a death-like stream

Around us all,

While for help we call,

And try to quell our fears.

List! 'tis the passing bell,
Pealing the solemn knell,

On the far-off shore,

For those who wake no more,

Who have gone to sleep

In the mighty deep,

And will guide the ship no more.

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WORK AND WAIT.

HERE'S a song I would ever in cheer

fulness sing,

It is fitted for every state,

The music is set by each noble heart,

The words are, "Work and wait."

The husbandman sings as he scatters his grain,
Whether seasons be early or late,

He trusts to his God for the sun and the rain,
While he sings, "I will work and wait."

The sculptor, with hammer and chisel, stands
Before some master-piece great;

His work is hard, his task is long,

But he knows how to "work and wait."

The hero gazes on fortune's hour,

While he grasps the reins of fate,

And trusts for success in a higher Power,

While he sings, "I will work and wait."