.

My little man,--when time shall bow,
With its hoary weight, my head and thine,--
Will you love me then as you love me now,
With sweet eyes looking so fond in mine?
However strangely my lot may be cast,
My hope in life's future, my joy in life's past,
Loyal and true as your loving heart can,
Say, will you always be my little man?

My little man! perchance the bloom
Of the hidden years, as they come and pass,
May leave me alone, with a wee, wee tomb
Hidden away in the tangled grass.
Still as on earth, so in heaven above,
Near to me, dear to me, claiming my love,
Safe in God's sunshine, and filling his plan,
Still be _forever_ my own little man.

Perhaps our Irish poetess in exile--Boston does not consider itself a
place of exile--would prefer to be represented by one of her more
serious poems; and probably she had good reasons for placing first in
her volume the following which is called "The Master's Hand."

The scroll was old and gray;
The dust of time had gathered white and chill
Above the touches of the worker's skill,
And hid their charm away.

The many passed it by;
For no sweet curve of dainty face or form,
No gleam of light, or flash of color warm,
Held back the careless eye.

But when the artist came,
With eye that saw beyond the charm of sense,
He seemed to catch a sense of power intense
That filled the dusky frame.

And when with jealous care
His hand had cleansed the canvas, line by line,
Behold! The fire of perfect art divine,
Had burned its impress there!

Upon the tablet glowed,
Made priceless by the arch of time they spanned,
The touches of the rare Old Master's hand,
The life his skill bestowed.

* * * * *

O God whom we adore!
Give us the watchful sight, to see and trace,
Thy living semblance in each human face
However clouded o'er.

Give us the power to find,
However warped and grimmed by time and sin,
Thine impress stamped upon the soul within,
Thy signet on the mind.

Not ours the reckless speed
To proudly pass our brother's weakness by,
And turning from his side with careless eye,
To take no further heed.

But, studyi