_Edmund Vance Cooke._

The Children

When the lessons and tasks are all ended,
And the school for the day is dismissed,
And the little ones gather around me,
To bid me good-night and be kissed,--
Oh, the little white arms that encircle
My neck in a tender embrace!
Oh, the smiles that are halos of Heaven,
Shedding sunshine and love on my face!

And when they, are gone, I sit dreaming
Of my childhood, too lovely to last;
Of love that my heart will remember
When it wakes to the pulse of the past;
Ere the world and its wickedness made me
A partner of sorrow and sin;
When the glory of God was about me,
And the glory of gladness within.

Oh, my heart grows as weak as a woman's
And the fountains of feeling will flow,
When I think of the paths, steep and stony
Where the feet of the dear ones must go.
Of the mountains of sin hanging o'er them,
Of the tempests of fate blowing wild--
Oh, there's nothing on earth half so holy
As the innocent heart of a child!

They are idols of hearts and of households,
They are angels of God in disguise.
His sunlight still sleeps in their tresses,
His glory still beams in their eyes:
Oh, those truants from earth and from heaven,
They have made me more manly and mild!
And I know how Jesus could liken
The Kingdom of God to a child.

Seek not a life for the dear ones
All radiant, as others have done.
But that life may have just enough shadow
To temper the glare of the sun;
I would pray God to guard them from evil,
But my prayer would bound back to myself.
Ah! A seraph may pray for a sinner,
But the sinner must pray for himself.

The twig is so easily bended,
I have banished the rule of the rod;
I have taught them the goodness of Knowledge,
They have taught me the goodness of God.
My heart is a dungeon of darkness,
Where I shut them from breaking a rule;
My frown is sufficient correction,
My love is the law of the school.

I shall leave the old house in the autumn
To traverse the threshold no more,
Ah! how I shall sigh for the dear ones
That meet me each morn at the door.
I shall miss the good-nights and the kisses,
And the gush of their innocent glee;
The group on the green and the flowers
That are brought every morning to me.

I shall miss them at morn and at evening.
Their song in the school and the street,
I shall miss the low hum of their voices
And the tramp of their delicate feet.
When the les