her young face
shine, so that, though never acknowledged in the courts of this
world, in the kingdom of heaven she was waited for by assembled
hosts of spirits, and the crown of martyrdom ready, lay waiting for
her young brow.

And she was a martyr. Her gentle spirit went up from at couch of
anguish--anguish brought on by ill-usage and neglect. And never till
then did the father recognise the angel in the child; never till
then did his manhood arise from the dust of its dishonour. From her
humble grave, he went away to steep his resolves for the better in
bitter tears; and he will tell you to-day, how the memory of her
much-enduring life keeps him from the bowl: how he goes sometimes
and stands where her patient hands have held him, while her cheek
crimsoned at the sneers of those who scoffed at the drunkard's
child.

Search for the angels in your households, and cherish them while
they are among you. It may be that all unconsciously you frown upon
them, when a smile would lead you to a knowledge of their exceeding
worth. They may be among the least cared for, most despised; but
when they are gone with their silent influence, then will you mourn
for them as for a jewel of great worth.

ANNIE.

THE grave is Heaven's gate, they say;
And when dear Annie passed away,
One calm June morning,
I saw upon the heavenly stairs,
A band of angels, unawares,
Her path adorning.

The grave is Heaven's gate, they say;
And when dear Annie passed away,
A music flowing
Filled my sad soul with love and light,
That made me seem, by day and night,
To Heaven going.

The grave is Heaven's gate, they say;
And when dear Annie passed away,
A saintly whiteness
O'erspread the beauty of her face,
And filled it with the tender grace
Of angel brightness.

The grave is Heaven's gate, they say;
And when dear Annie passed away,
An angel splendid
Cast his large glories to the ground,
While waves of throbbing music-sound
In sweetness blended.

The grave is Heaven's gate, they say;
And when dear Annie passed away,
In holy sweetness--
When life's sad dream with her was o'er,
Her white soul stood at Heaven's door,
In its completeness.

MOTHER.

WHEN she changed worlds, and before the time, what was she to
others? A small old, delicate woman. _What was she to us?_ A
radiant, smiling angel, upon whose brow the sunshine of the eternal
world