lier broken
Than sweetest snatches from Heaven's mounting bird--
More eloquent than the poet's passionate word
Supremely sung or spoken.

But O, our darling in his joyful dance
Tottered death-pale beneath the withering north,
Into a kinder clime, most blessed chance,
We caught him swiftly forth,
And there he bloomed again, our fairy boy,
Two year-long Aprils through in sun and shower,
Wing-footed Mercury of each merry hour,
The Genius of our joy.

And evermore we shared his shifting mood
Of hide-and-seek with April joy and sorrow,
Till not one shadow of solicitude
Remained to mar our morrow;
Yea, every fear had flown, lest, welladay!
The headlong heats or winter's piercing power
Should light afresh upon our radiant flower
And wither him away.

* * * * *

We had a child, a little fairy child,
He kissed us on the lips but yesternight,
Yet when he wakened his blue eyes were wild
With fevered light.
We had a child--what countless ages since,
Did he go forth from us with wildered brain,
Will he come back and kiss us once again--
Our little Fairy Prince?

BY THE BEDSIDE OF A SICK CHILD

O Thou by whose eternal plan
Ages arise and roll,
Who in Thine image madest man
To search him to the soul,
If e'er in token of the Cross,
With infant arms outspread,
Thou sawest Thy Beloved toss
In anguish on His bed;
Or heardest in the childish cry
That pierced the cottage room
The voice of Christ in agony
Breaking from Calvary's gloom,
Give ear! and from Thy Throne above
With eyes of mercy mild,
Look down, of Thine immortal love,
Upon our suffering child.

Though Earth's physicians all in vain
Have urged their utmost skill,
Yet to our prayers O make it plain
That Thou canst succour still;
Yea! through the midnight watches drear,
And all the weary day,
O be Thy Good Physician near
Our stricken one to stay;
That evermore as we succeed
In service at his side,
Each office of our darling's need
His heavenly hands may guide;
Till o'er his tempest bed of pain,
His cry of perishing thrill
The Saviour's arm go forth again,
The Saviour's "Peace! be still."

Too well, O Lord, too well we know
How oft upon Thy way
Our feet have followed faint and slow,
How often turned astray
For fleeting