But, rough or smooth, we know thro' all
A Father's care attends us.

His perfect strength our weakness shields

His patient love broods o'er us,—
What matters it what changes fill

The years that lie before us?
We only pray we may be kept

From faithless servants proving,
And onward as our footsteps press,

May they be heavenward moving!

The Little Kings and Queens.

ONARCHS whose kingdom no man bounds,
No leagues uphold, no conquest spreads,
Whose thrones are any mossy mounds,

Whose crowns are curls on sunny heads!

The only sovereigns on the earth
Whose sway is certain to endure;

No line of kings or kingliest birth
Is of its reigning half so sure.

No fortress built in all the land

So strong they cannot storm it free;

No palace made too rich, too grand,
For them to roam triumphantly.

No tyrant so hard-hearted known
Can their diplomacy resist;

THE LITTLE KINGS AND QUEENS.

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They can usurp his very throne;

He abdicates when he is kissed.

No hovel in the world so small,

So meanly built, so squalid, bare, They will not go within its wall,

And set their reign of splendor there.

No beggar too forlorn and poor

To give them all they need to thrive; They frolic in his yard and door,

The happiest kings and queens alive.

Oh, blessed little kings and queens,
The only sovereigns in the earth!
Their sovereignty nor rests nor leans
On pomp of riches or of birth.

Nor ends when cruel death lays low
In dust each little curly head;

All other sovereigns crownless go,

And are forgotten, when they're dead.

But these hold changeless empire past,
Triumphant past, all earthly scenes;

We worship, truest to the last,

The buried "little kings and queens."

The Sick Child.

EAR little eyes, with their fringed lids

Lifted so heavily, piteously,

Would I could see in their depths once more

The flash and sparkle of childhood's glee! Dear little lips, that have known no guile, Innocent, beautiful, fever red,

Would ye were ringing again with mirth,
As in the days that so soon have fled!

Dear little gentle and pensive face,

Wasted, and sunken, and shadowed now, The high brow white with an unknown light,

Would thou wert rosy with health's warm glow!

Dear little patient and suffering child,

Pleading for pity with dying eyes! O! it is cruel and hard to stand

Powerless to aid while a loved one dies.

Art thou departing, my precious dove?
Dearest and tenderest lamb of the fold;
Thoughtful and wise as a woman now,
Beautiful darling, but five years old.

Father in heaven, thy will is mine,

With thee my darling were safe and blest; But, O! that thy wisdom and love could see That now to restore her to life were best!

We Two.

E own no houses, no lots, no lands,

No dainty viands for us are spread,

By sweat of our brows and toil of our hands,
We earn the pittance that buys our bread.

And yet we live in a grander state

Sunbeam and I-than the millionaires

Who dine off silver and golden plate,

With liveried lackeys behind their chairs.

We have no riches in houses or stocks,

No bank-books show our balance to draw,
Yet we carry a safe-key that unlocks
More treasure than Croesus ever saw.

We wear no velvet nor satin fine,

We dress in a very homely way;

But ah! what luminous lusters shine

About Sunbeam's gowns and my hood en-gray!

When we walk together—we do not ride,
We are far too poor- it is very rare

We are bowed unto from the other side

Of the street-but for this we do not care;

We are not lonely, we pass along,

Sunbeam and I, and you cannot see,

We can, what tall and beautiful throngs
Of angels we have for company.

No harp, no dulcimer, no guitar,

Breaks into music at Sunbeam's touch, But do not think that our evenings are

Without their music; there is none such In the concert halls, where the palpitent air In musical billows floats and swims;

Our lives are as psalms, and our foreheads wear A calm, like the peal of beautiful hymns.

When cloudy weather obscures our skies,

And some days darken with drops of rain,
We have but to look in each other's eyes,
And all is balmy and bright again.
Ah, ours is the alchemy that transmutes
The drugs to elixir - the dross to gold;
And so we live on Hesperian fruits,

Sunbeam and I, and never grow old.

Never grow old, but we live in peace,

And love our fellows and envy none,

And our hearts are glad at the large increase
Of plentiful virtues under the sun.
And the days pass on with their thoughtful tread,
And the shadows lengthen toward the west;
But the wane of our young years brings no dread
To break the harvest of quiet rest.

Sunbeam's hair will be streaked with gray,

And Time will furrow my darling's brow,

But never can Time's hand steal away
The tender halo that clasps it now.