THERE CAME AN ANGEL TO MY HOME.

THE frost had spoiled the flowers that wove
.Their wreaths about my cot,

But could not chill the bloom of love,
The flower that fadeth not.

And though the autumn winds had reft
The clustering vines apart,

The birds that nested there had left

Their songs within my heart.
But ere the flowers returned to bloom,
Know ye the blessing given?
There came an angel to my home,
The fairest out of heaven.

A blessed sprite, with wings concealed,
And some forgotten name,

And eyes whose holy depths revealed
The Eden whence she came.

Ah me! the birds have never tried
Such songs as charmed my ear;
The common sunshine dimmed beside
This sunshine, doubly dear.

What cared I then that wealth should come,

Or fame or friends be given?

There dwelt an angel in my home,

The fairest out of heaven.

A tiny, dimpled form of grace,
A footfall here and there,
And kisses gushing o'er my face,
And through the glowing air.
And now, when o'er the cottage floor
The common sunshine streams,
The form she wore is there once more-
She dwelleth in my dreams.
For ere the second summer's bloom

Its fragrant freight had given,
There went an angel from my home,
An angel back to heaven.

Ah me! she was an angel blest,
Too bright for earth to claim;
A tomb of love is in my breast,
O'erwritten with her name;
A memory of exceeding bliss,
A yearning, crushing pain;
A searching thought of happiness,
That will not come again.

Methinks those hearts are nearer home

That have such lessons given; She sees no shadows in the tomb

Who hath a child in heaven.

MOTHER.

I AM sitting on the door stone of our loved, gladdened home,

Watching for thy coming, mother, wondering if you will

Every moment looking upward, if thy form I may not see Coming back again, my mother, to thy loved ones and

But the hours trail slowly onward, when their wings with

tears are wet;

And the life must not be measured by its weeks, or

months, or years,

But by sorrow and by gladness, by its happiness or tears.

Somewhere in this glorious sunshine, thou art on thy homeward way,

In thy heart a pleasure thrilling, in thine eye a loving ray; Thou wilt joy to meet us, mother, much as we to meet with thee,

And I know you must be coming back to-day, to home and me.

Not for long have we been parted; has that little while

been bright?

Did not Pleasure fold around thee all her shining robes

of light?

If she came not to thy spirit, if she lightened not thy

brow,

Then she ne'er should bless another, never worthier were than thou.

Thou shouldst never dwell with Sorrow, thou who hast been kind and good

To the lone and friendless orphan, in this cold world's solitude;

Blessings countless, blessings brightest, on thy pathway should be shed,

Thou whose hand hath lain in blessings on the helpless orphan's head.

Though I know of all earth's forms least I do deserve thy love,

Yet that same dear love I beg for every other good

above;

And the swiftest shaft of sorrow which can pierce my bleeding heart

Is, that I should grieve such goodness, or should act the ingrate's part.

I am sitting on the door step, watching, mother, still for

thee,

Peering through the glorious sunshine, if thy form I may

not see;

Thinking o'er a thousand fancies I will whisper in thine

ear,

Which no ear as thine, my mother, half so patiently would hear.

BE NOT DISHEARTENED.

A GENIAL moment oft has given
What years of toil and pain,
Of long, industrious toil, have striven
To win, and all in vain.

Yet count not, when thine end is won,
That labor merely lost;

But those sweet gums and fragrant woods,

Its rich material rare,

By tedious quest o'er lands and floods

Had first been gathered there.