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My little boy with his arrows
Had busily been at play,
But now stood thoughtfully watching
The sunbeams climb away.

A HARVEST SONG.

He watched the rising shadow Till the tallest elms were dark, And over the dewy grasses Wandered the fire-fly's spark.

Then seizing a feathered arrow,
He raised his bow on high,
And shot it up from the darkness
Into the evening sky.

I. "The corn, oh, the corn, 'tis the ripening of the

corn! Go unto the door, my lad, and look beneath the

moon, Thou canst see, beyond the woodrick, how it is

yelloon; 'Tis the harvesting of wheat and the barley must be shorn.

CHORUS. " The corn, oh, the corn, and the yellow mellow

corn! Here's to the corn, with the cups upon the board! We've been reaping all the day, and we'll reap

again the morn, And fetch it home to mow-yard, and then we'll

thank the Lord.

It rose till it pierced the sunlight,
And glittered a moment there,
As the arrow of old Acestes
Burst into flame in air.

Then he shouted aloud: " Come, father!
And see this wondrous sight;
The earth is all in darkness,
But the sky is full of light.”

II. “ The wheat, oh, the wheat, 'tis the ripening of

the wheat! All the day it has been hanging down its heavy

head, Bowing over on our bosoms with a beard of red; 'Tis the harvest, and the value makes the labor

sweet.

“ Yes, child, and above the darkness
That fills the world with care,
A heaven of happy sunshine
Is resting everywhere.

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V. · The corn, oh, the corn, and the blessing of the

corn! Come unto the door, my lads, and look beneath

the moon. We can see, on hill and valley, how it is yelloon, With a breadth of glory, as when our Lord was

born.

Matted and damp are the curls of gold,

Kissing the snow of that fair young brow; Pale are the lips of delicate mould -

Somebody's Darling is dying now.
Back from his beautiful blue-veined brow

Brush all the wandering waves of gold,
Cross his hands on his bosom now,

Somebody's Darling is still and cold.

Kiss him once for somebody's sake,

Murmur a prayer soft and low;

One bright curl from its fair mates take,

They were somebody's pride, you know: Somebody's hand had rested there,

Was it a mother's soft and white ? And have the lips of a sister fair

Been baptized in those waves of light?

His sunlight still sleeps in their tresses,

His glory still gleams in their eyes; Those truants from home and from heaven

They have made me more manly and mild; And I know now how Jesus could liken

The kingdom of God to a child!

I ask not a life for the dear ones,

All radiant, as others have done,
But that life may have just enough shadow

To temper the glare of the sun;
I would pray God to guard them from evil,

But my prayer would bound back to myself; Ah! a seraph may pray for a sinner,

But a sinner must pray for himself.

God knows best; he has somebody's love;

Somebody's heart enshrined him there; Somebody wasted his name above

Night and morn on the wings of prayer. Somebody wept when he marched away,

Looking so handsome, brave, and grand; Somebody's kiss on his forehead lay,

Somebody clung to his parting hand. Somebody's waiting and watching for him –

Yearning to hold him again to the heart And there he lies with his blue eyes dim,

And the smiling childlike lips apart. Tenderly bury the fair young dead,

Pausing to drop on his grave a tear; Carve on the wooden slab at his head, “Somebody's Darling slumbers here."

MARIE R. LACOSTE.

The twig is so easily bended,

I have banished the rule and the rod; I have taught them the goodness of knowledge,

They have taught me the goodness of God: My heart is the dungeon of darkness,

Where I shut them for breaking a rule; My frown is sufficient correction;

My love is the law of the school.

I shall leave the old house in the autumn,

To traverse its threshold no more;
Ah! how I shall sigh for the dear ones,

That meet me each morn at the door!
I shall miss the "good-nights" and the kisses,

And the gush of their innocent glee, The group on the green, and the flowers

That are brought every morning for me.

THE CHILDREN. When the lessons and tasks are all ended,

And the school for the day is dismissed, The little ones gather around me,

To bid me good-night and be kissed;
Oh, the little white arms that encircle

My neck in their tender embrace'
Oh, the smiles that are halos of heaven,

Shedding sunshine of love on my face! And when they are gone I sit dreaming

Of my childhood too lovely to last; Of joy that my heart will remember,

While it wakes to the pulse of the past, Ere the world and its wickedness made me

A partner of sorrow and sin
When the glory of God was about me,

And the glory of gladness within.
All my heart grows as weak as a woman's,

And the fountains of feeling will flow, When I think of the paths steep and stony,

Where the feet of the dear ones must go; Of the mountains of sin hanging o'er them,

Of the tempest of Fate blowing wild; Oh! there's nothing on earth half so holy

As the innocent heart of a child!

I shall miss them at morn and at even,

Their song in the school and the street; I shall miss the low hum of their voices,

And the tread of their delicate feet. When the lessons of life are all ended,

And Death says, “ The school is dismissed!” May the little ones gather around me To bid me good-night and be kissed!

CHARLES M. DICKINSON.

BE LIKE THE SUN.

Be like the sun, that pours its ray
To glad and glorify the day.
Be like the moon, that sheds its light
To bless and beautify the night.
Be like the stars, that sparkle on,
Although the sun and moon are gone.
Be like the skies, that steadfast are,
Though absent sun and moon and star.

CAROLINE A. MASON,

They are idols of hearts and of households;

They are angels of God in disguise;

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