THE PLAYMATE HOURS.

Dear Child, 't is your poor lot to be
My little Son;

I'm glad, though I am old, you see,

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While

you are One.

FREDERICK LOCKER.

BABY.

IMPLED and flushed and dewy pink he lies,

D"

Crumpled and tossed and lapt in snowy bands; Aimlessly reaching with his tiny hands,

Lifting in wondering gaze his great blue eyes.
Sweet pouting lips, parted by breathing sighs;

Soft cheeks, warm tinted as from tropic lands;
Framed with brown hair in shining silken strands,
All fair, all pure, a sunbeam from the skies!
O perfect innocence! O soul enshrined
In blissful ignorance of good or ill,

By never gale of idle passion crossed!
Although thou art no alien from thy kind,

Though pain and death may take thee captive, still
Through sin, at least, thine Eden is not lost.

ELAINE GOODALE.

THE PLAYMATE HOURS.

AWN lingers silent in the shade of night,

DA

Till on the gloaming Baby's laughter rings. Then smiling Day awakes, and open flings Her golden doors, to speed the shining flight

Of restless hours, gay children of the light.
Each eager playfellow to Baby brings

--

Some separate gift, -a flitting bird that sings With her; a waving branch of berries bright; A heap of rustling leaves; each trifle cheers This joyous little life but just begun. No weary hour to her brings sighs or tears; And when the shadows warn the loitering sun, With blossoms in her hands, untouched by fears, She softly falls asleep, and day is done.

MRS. T. W. HIGGINSON.

CRADLE SONG.

HE winds are whispering over the sea,

THE

And the waves are listening smilingly, They are telling tales of the shining sky, And the dusky lands they travel by.

They are telling tales they have often told,-
Of faces new and feelings old,

Of hope and fear, of love and hate,
Of birth and death and human fate,

Of homes of joy and hearts of pain,
Of storm and strife, and peace again,
Of age and youth, of man and maid,
And of baby mine, in the cradle laid.

SOME TIME.

And the sun laughs down in his own kind way,
For the heart of the sun is as young as they;
And the sea looks up as a loved one should, —
They are old; they know it is good, all good.

You may feel the waves as the cradle swings,
And the air is stirred with the wind's soft wings,
And mother has heard from the sky and sea
That they send "sweet sleep and dreams "to thee.

Then hush! my baby, gently rest

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In the night's wide arms, on the earth's broad breast, The sky above, beneath the sea,

And a greater than all to shelter thee.

MERLE ST. CROIX WRIGHT.

SOME TIME.

LAST night, my darling, as you slept,

I thought I heard you sigh,

And to your little crib I crept,

And watched a space thereby;

And then I stooped and kissed your brow,
For oh! I love you so

You are too young to know it now,

But some time you shall know!

Some time when, in a darkened place
Where others come to weep,

Your eyes shall look upon a face

Calm in eternal sleep.