TINY

MAY,

CHEN fragrant limes were thick with flower, And filled with murmuring bees,

A village bride, in morning hour,

Passed underneath the

A pretty, graceful girl that day Was Charlie Wilmot's bride, The fairest face, the neighbours

In all the country-side.

A rosy tint on clearest skin,

And laughing eyes of blue,

That seemed to speak a heart within
As fair and happy too.

Thus thinks, at least, her husband's love,
With prospects bright and gay,
He fondly hopes that One above
Will bless their marriage-day.

For peace on loving souls shall rest,
That dwell in sweet accord;
Marriage shall honoured be, and blest,
But" 'only in the Lord."

A smile upon the fairest face

May hide the guilt within,
And many a step of stately grace
Declines to paths of sin.

A pretty cottage, trim and neat,
Receives the village bride,

It stands 'mid fields of springing wheat,
And grassy meadows wide.

The sea lies green and still below,
And laps the shingly shore,

Though, when the wintry tempests blow,
It rolls with angry roar.

No sweeter home on earthly ground
Did ever love provide,

Than this which Charlie Wilmot found
And furnished for his bride.

Alas, how soon his happy dream
Of joy and love below

Dissolved away, like morning's beam,
Or fleeting flakes of snow.

For she, who should have made his home
So cozy, bright, and trim,
Loved, better far, abroad to roam,
And ceased to care for him.

So sunlight fled, and shadow fell
On Charlie Wilmot's life,

He grieved to see his pretty Nell

A most untidy wife.

For, coming home from work, he'd find No fire, and Nell gone out,

Or else with supper all behind,

And dinner-things about.

And, worst of all, he was not strong,
And health began to fail,

He had to leave his work ere long,
He grew so thin and pale.

Unmoved by suffering, still his wife
Neglected home and him;

Nor cared to fan the spark of life
That now was burning dim.

Consumption sets its fatal seal,
No skill his life can save,
With none for all his pain to feel,
He's sinking tow'rd the grave.

But lonely hours are cheered awhile.
As sick and sad he lies,

His baby learns to coo and smile,
As if to sympathise.

And so the helpless child became
His comfort day by day,

And learned to call herself by name,
"I'm father's Tiny May."

Not "mother's," for her heart within
Knew nought of mother love,
Nor guessed its tenderness akin

To that of God above.

She shrank away from mother's touch,
By father's side to stay,

For quickly baby learned how much
He loved his "tiny May."

And, as her husband weaker grew,

Nell deeper sank in sin,

His comforts now were small and few,
So much was sold for gin.

The days were dark and full of pain,
As Charlie dying lay,

He pleaded oft with Nell, in vain,
To care for "tiny May."

Her very heart seemed cold and dead,
And, when he tried to stir

Her mother love, she only said, "I can't be plagued with her.

"The child must learn to make her way

As other children do."

"Alas," thought he, "my baby May, There's none to care for you.

"While yet I live you are to me

A ray of sunshine bright; When I am gone, God shelter thee, And guide thy steps aright." So "tiny May's" dear Father went To dwell with God on high, And Nell, too late, made sad lament, To see her husband die;

But soon forgot her brief remorse,

Nor stopped to pause and think,
But, 'mid companions low and coarse,
She drowned her grief in drink.

And little May, scarce two years old,
Shrank back in terror wild,
For Nell would often slap and scold
Her little baby child.

Her bad companions, too, were rough
To little timid May;

Their cruel blows and voices gruff

Would scare the child away.

"Unnoticed, oft she'd slip aside

And leave the noisy throng,
For no one heeded when she cried,
Or hushed their drunken song.

Thus passed away the woeful years,
But who their tale can tell,
To "tiny May" so full of tears,
So full of sin to Nell.

And then they left their country home,
And came to London town,

And often, houseless, May would roam
With mother, up and down.

Or, locked within a dismal room,
The hungry child would pine,
Where scarcely through the dreary gloom
The cheerful sun could shine.

Or, all alone, would gently steal
To where the river flows,
She loved the freshening breeze to feel,
It seemed to soothe her woes.

"I wonder if my father dear,"

The child would softly say,

"If I should speak to him, would hear, And think of 'tiny May.'

"They said he went away to heaven When I was only two,

And now I'm very nearly seven,

If mother tells me true.

"I wonder why he went so far,
And where can heaven be?
Is it within a shining star,
Or out beyond the sea?

"Oh, Father! can you hear me call So very far away?

For mother does not heed at all,
Or love your tiny May.''
And thus the little patient soul

Would muse, with tearful eyes, And watch the mighty river roll, Its waters fall and rise;

But little thought a better friend
Than earthly father dear,
Did from His praising angels bend
Her plaintive cry to hear.

For little May had never heard
Of Him who reigns above,
And cares for every tiny bird,

The God whose name is Love.

No help was near, and mother grew
More cruel day by day,
And even sold the garments few
That covered "tiny May."

And hath the Lord forgotten all
His tender mercies mild?
Will He who sees a sparrow fall
Forget a little child?

Ah, no! The Master's wise design,
Concealed in shadows dim,
Shall yet as noonday glory shine:
"Wait patiently for Him."

At last, one day, to little May,

Is told a piteous tale,

They've taken mother quite away,
And shut her up in jail."

The child looks up with wondering eyes,
To scan the speaker's face,

But scarcely shows she feels surprise,
Or fears the sad disgrace.

For though she dreaded mother's blows,
She did not dread her sin,

Or know how fast it spreads and grows, Our evil hearts within.

She did not know a sinner grieves

A loving God on high,

Or how, between two guilty thieves,
The Lord was led to die.

For "tiny May" had yet to know
Her need of pardoning grace,
And how our God His love will show
Revealed in Jesus' face.

But Christ, who came to seek and save,
Was watching "tiny_May;'
For long ago His life He gave,
And sought the sheep astray.

And this the charge, with parting breath, We hear from lips divine: "Go, feed My lambs," the Saviour saith, "The little ones are Mine.

"And he who welcomes such will find
He also welcomes Me;

For like a little child in mind
Must My disciples be."

His word obedient hearts have kept
Down eighteen hundred years,

To soothe the children when they wept,
And smile away their tears;

And lead the lambs to peaceful streams,
Where living waters flow;
The Shepherd's life in love redeems
Their souls from sin and woe.

'Twas many weary hours since May
Had even tasted bread,
And fainting, fast asleep she lay,
A heap of dust her bed.

When one who loved his Master's will
Discerned this wandering sheep,
Ah, such a sight as that might still
Make holy angels weep!

But when they see the Saviour bring
Within the heavenly fold
Another ransomed soul, they sing,

And touch their harps of gold.

How glad, if we His word believe,
Would service ever be,
"When ye My little ones receive
Ye do it unto Me.”

No more on tiny trembling feet
Does May bewildered roam,
Well fed, and clothed in garments neat,
She finds a happy home.

But when the child is asked her name,
This only can she say,

And always answers just the same,
"I'm father's tiny May."

And day by day she learns to know
Her Heavenly Father too,
And may she in His likeness grow,
And strive His will to do.

At last to dwell, when night is o'er,
In heaven's eternal day,

A weak and wandering child no more,
But holy, happy May.

LUCY TAYLOR.

GOD is light, sin is darkness; God is life, sin is death; God is heaven, sin is hell; God is beauty, sin is deformity.-BROOKS.

ANSELM, in his meditations 'confesseth that all

his life was either damnable for sin committed or unprofitable for good omitted; at last concludes, "Oh, what then remains but in our whole life to lament the sins of our whole life?"-BROOKS.

"So much the more God hath been displeased with the blackness of sin, the more will he be pleased with the blushing of the sinner." They

that do not burn now in zeal against sin, must ere long burn in hell for sin.- Bernard, quoted BY BROOKS.