THE NEW CRADLE.

A very little boy, whose infant brother had died the day before, being asked where he was, sweetly replied, " Asleep, up stairs, in his new cradle."

"ASLEEP, in his new cradle
How beautiful the thought,
Thy childhood, in its simpleness,
From nature's heart, has caught:
A reach, our "Sweetest Shakspeare,"
Himself, has failed to win ;

And one, whose truthful tenderness
Must make "the world, all kin."

"Asleep, in his new cradle "-
Sad mother, dry your tears;
In this, your heart-bereavement,
God's tenderest love appears:
The cradle, you provided,

From death, could not be free;
Your loveliest has now secured
His immortality.

"Asleep, in his new cradle "

He wakes in Paradise;
The lullabies of nature,

Lost, in its symphonies:
Among the holy children,

In pastures green, he plays;
Or joins, with lisping accents,
In the music of their lays.

'Asleep, in his new cradle "

He waits for you to come,
From earth, its sins and sorrows,

To his bright and happy home;
Till the resurrection-breaking,

God's loved ones, all, shall bring,
And the dead in Christ, awaking,

Reign with their Saviour-King.

RIVERSIDE, SEPTUAGESIMA, 1855.

FANNY'S GRAVE.

"There's pansies, that's for thoughts."-Ophelia, in Hamlet.
66 A most unspotted lily.”—Cranmer, in Henry VIII.

UPON our darling Fanny's grave,
The Pansies are in bloom:

What sweetest thoughts, unbidden, spring,
Beside her sacred tomb!
Forever, shall my memory dwell,

Upon that peaceful spot:
For one, so loved, my faithful heart
Needs no "forget me not!"

The lilies of the valley wave,
At Fanny's dearest feet:

While she, on flowers immortal, treads,

A thousand times more sweet.

Still may her loveliness attract

Our thoughts, and hearts above;

Till, through the Cross she clasped, we join
The Lily of our love!

WHITSUNDAY, 1855.

THE EYES OF THE ANGELS.

A little child was disappointed, when her mother told her what the stars were She said, "I thought they were the eyes of angels."

"MOTHER, What are those little things,
That twinkle from the skies?"

"The Stars, my child!" "I thought, Mother,
They were the angels' eyes.

"They look down on me, so like yours,

As beautiful, and mild;

When, by my crib, you used to sit,

And watch your feverish child.

"And, always, when I shut my eyes,
And said my little prayers,
I felt so safe because I knew,
That they had opened theirs."

RIVERSIDE, Monday BEFORE EASTER, 1855.

* "MY LOVE LIES BLEEDING."

THAT melancholy Amaranth;

It haunts me all the day,
With memories of "my birdie love,"
Now "flying," far away.

"Where is my precious baby' gone?"
Rings out, on all the air;

And stillness stuns my ear, the while;
Till echo answers "where?"

My Lizzie "birdie " nestles, now,
Upon the sounding shore;

Yet, still, her flute-notes sweet, I hear,

Through all the breakers' roar:

And, when she spreads her dovelike wings,

The foaming surge, to brave:

With plumes, like "yellow gold,” she seems
An angel on the wave.

That melancholy Amaranth,

With pendant, purple flowers,

Like weeping-willow, stands to mark,

The graves, of parted hours.

Far, far, away, "my birdie love"

Is "plashing" in the sea;

"My love lies bleeding," all that's left,

To solitude and me.

August 15, 1856.

The common name, for the flower, known to botanists, as "Amaranthus Melancholicus; a favourite flower of the little grand-child, to whom these lines were written. The words in quotation, in these two pieces, are the baby language that they used together.

FROM "DANPY" TO HIS "BIRDIE."

WITH A WINTER BLOSSOM.

My "birdie " love, your little flowers

Have touched your "Danpy's "heart;
And made the tears, like April drops,
From its deep fountains, start.

He laid the fair and fragrant things,
Between his Prayer Book leaves:
To look at in his loneliness;

And cheer him, when he grieves.

So may his "birdie Lizzie" lie
Safe, in the Church's arms;
Still guarded, by Her watchful love,
And kept from sins and harms:

Till, at the gracious Saviour's call,
She spreads her golden wings:
And, in the Paradise of God,
Forever flies and sings!

ASCENSION, 1856.

A PRAYER.

Father, to Thy hands I give,
Her in whom my soul doth live;
To her feet be Thou the guide
Be the buckler by her side:
All the day from harm to keep,
All the night to guard her sleep;
Warding evil from her heart,
Bidding shapes of ill depart;
Making truth and innocence
Still her solace and defence;
Till, by grace, thro' faith, she be
Taken home, to dwell with Thee.

*A curl of his hair.

THE HEART NEED NOT GROW OLD.

There are who deem life's afternoon,

At best a dark and dreary time,

Too late to yield a second bloom,

Too chill to keep the flowers of prime;
That day by day, and step by step,
While friends of youth, beside us fall,
The weary heart, grown dull with age
Responds no more to friendship's call.

Believe them not, my gentle girl,

Those libellers of love and truth,
Nor let the clouds of coming years,
O'ercast the spring-time of thy youth.
The light of sense may all go out,

And passion's wild-fire quite grow cold,
But time chills not the warmth of truth,
The loving heart grows never old.

TO THE SWEET *DAUGHTERS OF THE CROSS;

WHO WROUGHT, FOR ME, THE EVERGREEN EMBLEM OF OUR SALVATION.

"Only in the Cross."

Sweet children, in the Cross, you bring,

Three lessons, I discern:

For, though I'm nearly sixty years,

I'm not too old to learn.

It teaches me, that, for my sins,
My God was crucified:
Incarnate as the Virgin's Son,

The Lord of glory died.

*The pupils of St. Mary's Hall.

This same Cross, that, for so many years, had told him of his children's Christmas love, was laid on this, "first Christmas without their Father," among the flowers that bloomed that day upon his grave.