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But as I reached to take it, mother,
I heard you speaking my name ;
With everything the same.
0, I wish I had gained the rose, mother,
And known for what it was meant;
For then I should be content.
The mother wept as she answered low,
“'Twas a strange, strange dream thou wert given; But ah, my child, I would bid thee know
'Twill only be finished in heaven.”'
LD Christmas comes about again, Red berries bright, and holly green, The blessed day draws near,
Proclaim'd o'er hall and bower Albeit our faith and love do wax
That holy Church ruled all the land More faint and cold each year.
With undisputed power. Oh! but it was a goodly sound,
O’er wrekin wide, from side to side, In th' unenlighten'd days,
From graybeard, maid, and boy, To hear our fathers raise their song Loud
rang the notes, swift flow'd the tide Of simple-hearted praise.
Of unrestrain'd joy. Oh! but it was a goodly sight,
And now, of all our customs rare, The rough-built hall to see,
And good old English ways, Glancing with high-born dames and men, This one, of keeping Christmas-time, And hinds of low degree.
Alone has reach'd our days. To holy Church's dearest sons,
Still, though our hearty glee has gone, The humble and the poor,
Though faith and love be cold, To all who came, the seneschal
Still do we welcome Christmas-tide Threw open wide the door.
As fondly as of old.
Do loving faces meet,
And brothers parted through the year Were mingled in their glee.
Do brothers kindly greet.
In Christian joy and mirth,
That gave our Saviour birth!
IV.-THE SQUIRREL'S LESSON.
One gathered nuts, and the other had none;
Listen, my child, while I tell you his fate :
Two little boys in a school-room were placed, One always perfect, the other disgraced; “Time enough yet for my learning," he said ; “I will climb, by and by, from the foot to the head.”
“0, mother, I feel so sorry,
For I know you are weeping now.
He does not know of my pain.
"Never since that dreadful morning
Have I left this little bed,
“O, I know I've been so much trouble,
And made you so much care,
“And I know you have no money,
For you've had no time to sew;
"I'm going to sleep, for I'm easy,
And I don't feel any pain,
“Tell me, what shall I do, dear mother,
If Jesus should call me again?
She slept, and I heard the low moaning
Of a sorrowful voice in prayer. “O, heavenly Father, Thou gavest,
To Thee I surrender my care,
"My treasure, my last and my only,
I give her, () Lord, unto Thee.
The dark room was radiant with glory;
Then I knew, as I entered half fearful,
VI.-BRUCE AND THE SPIDER.
ING BRUCE of Scotland flung himself down in a lonely mood to think ! 'Tis true he was monarch, and wore a crown, but his heart was beginning
to sink. For he had been trying to do a great deed to make his people glad; He had tried and tried, but could'nt succeed, and so he became quite sad. He flung himself down in low despair, as grieved as man could be ; And after a while, as he pondered there, "I'll give it all up," said he. Now just at that moment a spider dropped, with its silken cobweb clue; And the king, in the midst of his thinking stopped--to see what the spider would do! 'Twas a long way up to the ceiling dome ; and it hung by a rope so fine, That how it would get to its cobweb home, King Bruce could not divine. It soon began to cling and crawl straight up with strong endeavor,But down it came with a slipping sprawl, as near to the ground as ever. Again the spider swung below, but again it quickly mounted; Till up and down, now fast, now slow, nine brave attempts were counted. “Sure,” cried the king, “that foolish thing will strive no more to climb, When it toils so hard to reach and cling, and tumbles every time." Up again it went, inch by inch, higher and higher he got ; And a bold little run at the very last pinch, put him into his native spot. “Bravo, bravo !" the king cried out, “all honor to those who try : The spider up there defied despair; he conquered—and why should'nt I?” Again King Robert roused his soul; and history tells the tale, That he tried once more,—'twas at Bannockburn,—and that time he did not fail !
VII.-A LITTLE BOY'S TROUBLES.
They only have just begun.
But nothing like learning to write;
But my copy-book is a sight!
The ink gets over my fingers ;
The pen cuts all sorts of shines,
The letters won't stay on the lines,