Will the New Year Come To-night, Mamma? Will the New Year come to-night, mamma? I'm tired of wait. ing so, My stocking hung by the chimney side full three long days ago. I run to peep within the door, by morning's early light, 'Tis empty still-Oh, say, mamma, will the New Year come to-night? Will the New Year come to-night, mamma? the snow is on the hill, The ice must be two inches thick upon the meadow rill. I heard you tell papa last night, his son must have a sled (I did n't mean to hear, mamma), and a pair of skates you said. I prayed for just those things, mamma, O, I shall be full of glee, And the orphan boys in the village school will all be envying me; But I'll give them toys, and lend them books, and make their New Year glad, For God, you say, takes back his gifts when little folks are bad. And won't you let me go, mamma, upon the New Year's day, The New Year comes to-night, mamma, I saw it in my sleep, But it only held a little shroud - a shroud and nothing more: It seemed so very strange, indeed, to find such gifts instead It is not all a dream, mamma, I know, it must be true; The New Year comes to-night, mamma,-your cold hand on my You need not fill my stocking now, I cannot go and peep, I shall not want the skates, mamma, I'll never need the sled; But now he'll know that I forgive, as then I tried to do. And, if you please, mamma, I'd like the story-book and slate, The New Year comes to-night, mamma, it seems so very soon, I know I've been a thoughtless boy, and made you too much care, It cannot be; but you will keep the summer flowers green, don't cry, mamma a very few I mean, And plant a few The New Year comes-good-night, mamma sleep I pray the Lord"— tell poor papa 'my soul to keep; If I"-how cold it seems - how dark-kiss me, I cannot see The New Year comes to-night, mamma, the old year-dies with me. Cora M. Eager. Marion Moore. Gone, art thou, Marion, Marion Moore, Gone, like the bird in the autumn that singeth; Gone, like the flower by the way-side that springeth; Gone, like the leaf of the ivy that clingeth Round the lone rock on the storm-beaten shore. Dear wert thou, Marion, Marion Moore, I will remember thee, Marion Moore; Gone, art thou, Marion, Marion Moore! Peace to thee, Marion, Marion Moore, Peace which the queens of the earth cannot borrow, Who would not fly from this desolate shore. James G. Clark, The Well of St. Keyne. There is a well in Cornwall, the water of which possesses rare virtues. If the husband drinks first after the marriage, he gets the mastery for ife, and vice versa. A well there is in the west country, And a clearer one never was seen; But has heard of the well of St. Keyne. A traveler came to the well of St. Keyne; And there was not a cloud in the sky. He drank of the water, so cold and clear, And he sat down upon the bank Under the willow tree. There came a man from the house hard by, At the well to fill his pail; On the well side he rested it, And he bade the stranger hail. "Art thou a bachelor, stranger?" quoth he; "For an' if thou hast a wife, The happiest draught thou hast drank this day "Or hast thy good woman, if one thou hast, Ever here in Cornwall been? For an' if she have, I'll venture my life She has drank of the well of St. Keyne." "I have a good woman who never was here," The stranger made reply; "But why should she be the better for that, I pray you, answer why?" "St. Keyne," quoth the Cornish-man, "many a time Drank of this crystal well, And before the angel summoned her, She laid on the water a spell. "If the husband of this gifted well Shall drink before his wife, A happy man henceforth is he, For he shall be master for life. 'But if the wife should drink of it first, God help the husband then;" The stranger stoop'd to the well of St. Keyne, And drank of the water again. "You drank of the well, I warrant, betimes ?" He to the Cornish-man said; But the Cornish-man smiled as the stranger spoke, And sheepishly shook his head "I hasten'd as soon as the wedding was done, And left my wife in the porch; But, i' faith, she had been wiser than me, For she took a bottle to church." Robert Southey, 1793. Thank God! there's still a Vanguard. Thank God! there's still a vanguard Fighting for the right! Though the throng flock to rearward, Flags of truce to sin and error, Clasping hands, mute with terror, Thank God! there's still a vanguard Fighting for the right. Through the wilderness advancing, Hewers of the way; Forward far their spears are glancing, Flashing back the day: "Back!" the leaders cry, who fear them; "Back!" from all the army near them; Slay them-from each drop that falleth Where the martyr's fire appalleth, Lo they pass unharmed: Crushed beneath thy wheel, Oppression, By the death-throes warmed! |