y gives her longest reins,
And whips and spurs it, through the brain,
Till startling nature wakes again.
She flings the rose from beauty's cheek,
And on it paints her hectic streak;
Takes rosy childhood from his play,
And gives grim death the beauteous prey;
For ever round her footsteps steal
To pick for him his glutton meal;
And still she keeps her promise good.

To pamper him with hourly food;
But yet they stand there, side by side,
Death and the grave, unsatisfied.
For should a million hourly die,
Twould not their appetites supply.
But what seem curses to our eyes
Are nought but blessings in disguise;
And sickness is in mercy given
To wean the soul from earth to heaven;
For were all bright and joyous here.
Who would think on yon, bright sphere?
But pleasure pinioned to this sod,
Our thoughts would never rise to God.
And death's the passage to the skies,
Through which our ransom'd souls must rise,
To yonder blissful, bright abode,
Where dwells our Father and our God.
But now, sweet bird, I miss thy tone,
And feel at least one pleasure gone;
A prowling cat, foe to thy kind,
Thus wrought the evil she designed.
Thy life and songs forever o'er,
Thou wilt charm my ear no more.
Thus in life's uncertain day,
The singing birds oft snatch'd away:
And they who linger long in pain
Suffered to linger and remain.
But God is just in his decrees,
And wisely orders things like these.

The Angel Cousin.

Our little Mary was dying. The film had gathered over those deep blue
orbs, and her emaciated form lay white as polished marble stretched
out on her little cradle, around which were gathered sympathizing
friends, watching the feeble lamp of life as it burned flickering
in its socket. The grandmother and aunt had been summoned from an
adjoining village, where they had gone upon a visit the previous
morning; and Emma, a sweet cousin not two years old, stood wondering
why little Mary did not smile upon her, as she usually did, for she
had never looked upon death.

Mary had ever been a fragile child. But her mother had clung to her
with all the devotion of a mother's love. Anxiously did she watch that
little pale form, pressing it to her heart, and gazing upon it with
fond maternal pride, day by day, and night after night, unmindful of
food or sleep, so that she might relieve the suffering of her precious
babe; and ever would she say i