ed.
Spite of his slender mien, he worked and always smiled.
He was as deft as workmen twain; he dressed
The stones, and in the mortar then he pressed
The heavy blocks; the workmen found him cheerful.
Mounting the ladder like a bird:
He skipped across the rafters fearful.
He smiled as he ascended, smiled as he descended--
The very masons trembled at his hardiness:
But he was working for his father--in his gladness,
His life was full of happiness;
His brave companions loved the boy
Who filled their little life with joy.
They saw the sweat run down his brow,
And clapped their hands, though weary he was now.

What bliss of Abel, when the day's work's o'er,
And the bright stars were shining:
Unto the office he must go,
And don his better clothing--
Thus his poor father to deceive, who thought he went a-clerking.
He took his paper home and wrote, 'midst talk with Jane so shyly,
And with a twinkling eye he answered mother's looks so slyly.

Three days thus passed, and the sick man arose,
Life now appeared to him a sweet repose.
On Thursday, tempting was the road;
At midday, Friday, he must walk abroad.

But, fatal Friday--God has made for sorrow.

The father, warmed up by the sun's bright ray,
Hied to the work-yard, smiling by the way;
He wished to thank the friend who worked for him,
But saw him not--his eyes were dim--
Yet he was near; and looking up, he saw no people working,
No dinner-bell had struck, no workmen sure were lurking.
Oh, God! what's happened at the building yard?
A crowd collected--master, mason--as on guard.
"What's this?" the old man cried. "Alas! some man has fallen!"
Perhaps it was his friend! His soul with grief was burning.
He ran. Before him thronged the press of men,
They tried to thrust him back again;
But no; Hilaire pressed through the crowd of working men.
Oh, wretched father--man unfortunate;
The friend who saved thee was thy child--sad fate!
Now he has fallen from the ladder's head,
And lies a bleeding mass, now nearly dead!

Now Hilaire uttered a most fearful cry;
The child had given his life, now he might die.
Alas! the bleeding youth
Was in his death-throes, he could scarcely breathe;
"Master," he said, "I've not fulfilled my task,
Bu