is the child's voice! The mother looks steadfastly in my face for a moment; she smiles; she places her pale hand on the girl's head, gazes fondly in her young face, and bursts into tears. The little creature, though she strives hard to be calm, sobs as if her heart would break. I stand in the midst of the room, twirling my hat in my hand, and cannot speak. Not one of us can give utterance to words. In a few moments, however, I repress my feelings, look around me, and see, now for the first time, two other forms lying in a corner, well-nigh concealed under a ragged quilt covering. They are children: one of them an infant, so meagre, so wan and shadowy, that he seems scarcely to be a being of earth. My God! shall I ever forget that face? O, what has this poor babe done, that, with abundance all around him, he should be left to suffer, almost in solitude, the pangs of hunger and cold, until the flesh has perished from his little limbs, and his frame is like that of a skeleton? I approach his rude couch; - hush! traces of tears are on his baby cheeks; let me not disturb him, for he sleeps!—ay, to the day of eternal waking! Poor boy!-no human power, however potent, can rouse thee from that slumber. Thy sojourn here on earth was brief indeed; but O, who knows the weight of anguish, that has pressed upon thy wretched life, until it has crushed thee! Thy little bed-fellow and thy brother, somewhat older, and evidently of a more firm constitution, is not so pale as thou; there are in his countenance indications of nerve and spirit, which, thus far, have no doubt sustained him; whilst thou, not endowed with the power to struggle against thy fate, hast sunk prematurely under it. He has pillowed thy aching head on his arm, and sleeps beside thee. Heaven, be with him, and comfort him! As yet he knows not thy doom. Now, surely, he needs His aid; for cold humanity will suffer him to remain here to starve and die, as thou hast starved and died! The story of these children and this mother may be told in few words. The father and been a poor man, dependent on his daily labor for support. Sickness disabled him; he lingered in abject poverty for a few weeks, and died. The wife, heart-broken, became ill also; she could not work for the support of her children. Destitution and misery were their lot. The little ones were sent out to beg, as an only resource; and they starved, mother and children - all! This is their history up to the time I visited them. It is the history of thousands. It is a brief, but a veritable history; yet how few will reflect on its truth! LESSON CXVI. The Voices at the Throne.-T. WESTWOOD. A LITTLE child, A little meek-faced, quiet village child, Sat singing by her cottage door at eve, Beheld the upturned aspect, or the smile, That wreathed her innocent lips the while they breathed The oft-repeated burden of the hymn, "Praise God! praise God!" A seraph by the throne. In the full glory stood. With eager hand He smote the golden harp-strings, till a flood Of harmony on the celestial air Welled forth, unceasing. Then with a great voice Lord God Almighty!" and the eternal courts To its full strength; and still the infinite heavens Of the reverberate thunder. Loving smiles At that new utterance. Smiles of joy that grew Was heard the simple burden of the hymn, "Praise God! praise God!" And when the seraph's song Had reached its close, and o'er the golden lyre Silence hung brooding when the eternal courts Still, through the abysmal space, that wandering voice Still murmured sweet on the celestial air, LESSON CXVII. Milton on his Loss of Sight.* I AM old and blind! Men point at me as smitten by God's frown; Yet I am not cast down. *From the Oxford Edition of Milton's Works. I am weak, yet strong; I murmur not, that I no longer see; Poor, old, and helpless, I the more belong, O merciful One! When men are farthest, then Thou art most near; When friends pass by, my weaknesses to shun, Thy chariot I hear. Thy glorious face Is leaning toward me, and its holy light On my bended knee, I recognize Thy purpose, clearly shown; I have naught to fear; This darkness is the shadow of Thy wing; Can come no evil thing. O! I seem to stand Trembling, where foot of mortal ne'er hath been, Wrapped in the radiance from Thy sinless land, Which eye hath never seen. Visions come and go; Shapes of resplendent beauty round me throng; It is nothing now, When heaven is opening on my sightless eyes— When airs from Paradise refresh my brow; That earth in darkness lies. In a purer clime, My being fills with rapture-waves of thought Give me now my lyre! I feel the stirrings of a gift divine; LESSON CXVIII. The Dumb Child.- ANONYMOUS. SHE is my only girl; I asked for her as some most precious thing, The shade that time brought forth I could not see; O, many a soft old tune I used to sing unto that deadened ear, And hushed her brothers' laughter while she lay- 'T was long ere I believed That this one daughter might not speak to me; Waited and watched, God knows how patiently! How willingly deceived: Vain Love was long the untiring nurse of Faith, And tended Hope until it starved to death. |