I.

Dear little one with eyes so blue,
And silken ringlets of flaxen hair!
Oh, may life have in store for you
Something better than anguish and care!
Oh, may thy footsteps guided be
In paths of peace and pleasantness!
Oh, may those bright eyes never see
Much of the cold world's bitterness!

II.

Dear little one with innocent lips,
Tasting life's cup at the sparkling brim!
Oh, may the dregs that sorrow sips
Ever be kept aloof from him!
Oh, may the smile on his dimpled face
Through the years to come still linger there!
Oh, may Time's fingers gently place
The silver strands in his flaxen hair!

WHEN THE COAL HOUSE'S FULL.

When the nights are gittin' chilly and the leaves begin to fade,
An' the mercury's down to thirty, 'stead o' ninety in the shade,
There's a happy kind o' feelin' takes possession o' the soul--
With the smoke house full o' middlin', and the coal house full o' coal!

When the wintry winds are whistlin' through the branches o' the trees,
An' the dead leaves are a-flyin' and a-rustlin' in the breeze,
You kin feel the vast contentment that over you will roll--
If the barn is full o' fodder, and the coal house full o' coal!

When the 'skeeter's ceased from troublin' and the fly is chilled to death,
An' the window-pane is written with the Frost King's icy breath,
You kin dream about the Summer-time, an' that old fishin' pole--
If the pantry's full o' victuals, an' the coal house full o' coal!

When your supper's been digested an' you're dozin' in your chair,
Or you're tucked between the blankets from the frosty, nippin' air,
Why, your dreams will be the sweeter if you've helped some sufferin' soul
Whose larder's scant o' victuals, and his coal house minus coal!

DECEMBER.

I.

White-shrouded, latest-born of all the year,
In thy cold hands no bud or floweret bearing,
Thou comest now to wail above the bier
Of thy dead sisters--on thy bosom wearing
The icy jewel and the frosted gem--
But on thy marble brow the Star of Bethlehem!

II.

Beneath thy foot-prints lie the Autumn leaves,
Mould'ring and hast'ning to decay;
And where the drifting snow its mantle weaves
The Summer songsters sang the happy hours away.
What tho' the birds have flown the blighted stem?
There's in thy jeweled crown the Star of Bethlehem!

SOLACE.

One Autumn evening, wandering, when the sun was hanging low,
Throug