urther up in the light;
In the pure clear light of a Queenly crown,
A widowed monarch is looking down
Tow'rds the dark, with compassion bedight.

Up in the light--further up in the light--
From the dazzling light of a Maker's throne--
The angel of Pity came down to zone
Human hearts through that dreadful night.

DAISY MAY.

A STORY OF CHRISTMASTIDE LONG AGO.

PART THE FIRST.

"Don't bolt the door, John," said the Dame,
Who sat esconced in oaken chair,
The good man paused, and back he came,
Silent, and with a troubled air.

"To night 'tis just a year ago
Since Daisy left," the mother sighed.
"Don't blame the child, I loved her so;
But better had our darling died."

The father spake not. Glistening bright
A tear stole down the mother's cheek.
"A year to-night! A year to-night!
I sometimes think my heart will break."

'Tis Christmas-eve, and in that cot
The good old couple grieve and yearn
For one, though absent, ne'er forgot:
"Don't bolt the door, she may return."

"She may return." The midnight chime
With mystic music fills the air,
And bears the news, "'Tis Christmas time,"
In sobbing wavelets everywhere.

PART THE SECOND

Our village pride was Daisy May;
A fairy being, all too good
For earthly thought--as bright as day--
Just blooming into womanhood.

The low, sweet music of her voice,
Was like the sound of rippling rills;
It bade the listening heart rejoice,
And won as with enchanting spells.

Her eyes, like violets dipt in dew,
The soul enthralled with tender glance,
That gave to things a brighter hue,
And fringed our lives with new romance.

And from her forehead, white as pearl,
There hung a cloud of golden hair,
Whose lustre threw around the girl
A halo such as angels wear.

"Ah, me!" sighed many a village swain,
"Her love what bliss 'twould be to win
He whom the beauteous prize shall gain
Will open Heaven and enter in."

And as she passed with girlish grace
She met the glance of every eye,
Till blushes fluttered o'er her face
Like roses when the sun goes by.

But while in virgin life she walkt;
While sunlight round her footsteps played,
Abroad unbridled Passion stalked:
She loved, and, trusting, was betrayed.

And in the city, 'mongst the gay,
Far, far from friends who mourned her fate,