s the Son of Man.

On the sea the sunshine broods,
And the shining tops of woods;
We will leave these oracles,
Finding others 'mid the hills.

SYMPATHY.

Grief held me silent in my seat,
I neither moved nor smiled:
Joy held her silent at my feet,
My little lily-child.

She raised her face; she seemed to feel
That she was left outside;
She said one word with childish zeal
That would not be denied.

Twice more my name, with infant grace;
Sole word her lips could mould!
Her face was pulling at my face--
She was but ten months old.

I know not what were my replies--
I thought: dost Thou, O God,
Need ever thy poor children's eyes,
To ease thee of thy load?

They find not Thee in evil case,
But, raised in sorrow wild,
Bring down from visiting thy face
The calmness of a child.

Thou art the depth of Heaven above--
The springing well in her;
Not Father only in thy love,
But daily minister.

And this is how the comfort slid
From her to me the while,--
It was thy present face that did
Smile on me from her smile.

LITTLE ELFIE.

I have an elfish maiden child;
She is not two years old;
Through windy locks her eyes gleam wild,
With glances shy and bold.

Like little imps, her tiny hands
Dart out and push and take;
Chide her--a trembling thing she stands,
And like two leaves they shake.

But to her mind a minute gone
Is like a year ago;
So when you lift your eyes anon,
They're at it, to and fro.

Sometimes, though not oppressed with thought,
She has her sleepless fits;
Then to my room in blanket brought,
In round-backed chair she sits;

Where, if by chance in graver mood,
A hermit she appears,
Seated in cave of ancient wood,
Grown very still with years.

Then suddenly the pope she is,
A playful one, I know;
For up and down, now that, now this,
Her feet like plash-mill go.

Why like the pope? She's at it yet,
Her knee-joints flail-like go:
Unthinking man! it is to let
Her mother kiss each toe.

But if I turn away and write,
Then sudden look around,
I almost tremble; tall and white
She stands upon the ground.

In long night-gown, a tiny ghost,
She stands unmoving there;
Or if she moves, my wits were lost
To meet her on the stair!

O Elfie, make no haste to lose
Thy lack of conscious sense;
Thou hast the best gift I could choose,
A God-like confidence.

THE THANK OFFERING.

My little ch