pping to the floor.

They had no candle burning,
The fire was long since dead,
A wretched heap of straw was all
They had to call a bed.

They nestled close together,
On the cold and dampy ground,
And as the storm rush'd past them,
They trembled at the sound.

"Mother," the poor boy whispered,
"May I not go again?
I do not heed the wind, mother,
I'm not afraid of rain.

"May I not go and beg, mother,
For you are very ill;
Some one will give me something,
Mother, I'm sure they will?

"Do let me go and try, mother,
You know I won't be long;
I did feel weak and tired, mother,
But now I feel quite strong.

"Give me a kiss before I go,
And pray whilst I'm away,
That I may meet some Christian friend,
Who will not say me nay."

"Dear boy, the night is stormy,
Your ragged clothes are thin,
And soon the heavy rain-drops
Will wet you to the skin.

"I would go out myself, boy,
But, oh! I cannot rise,
I am too weak to dry the tears
That roll down from my eyes.

"I fear I soon must go, love,
And leave my boy alone.
And oh! what can you do, love,
When I am dead and gone?"

"Mother, you set me weeping,
Don't talk in such a strain,
Your tears are worse for me to bear
Than all the wind and rain.

"Wait till I'm rather bigger,
And then I'll work all day,
And shan't we both be happy
When I bring you home my pay?

"Then you shall have some tea, mother,
And bread as white as snow;
You won't be sickly then, mother,
You'll soon get well, I know.

"And when that time shall come, mother,
You shall have some Sunday clothes,
Then you can go to church, mother--
You cannot go in those.

"And then I'll take you walking,
And you shall see the flowers,
And sit upon the sweet green grass
Beneath the trees for hours.

"But I will haste away, mother,
I won't be long--good bye!"
"Farewell, my boy," she murmured,
Then she laid her down to die.

----------

The lamps were dimly shining,
And the waters in a flood,
Came rolling o'er the pavement,
Where the little beggar stood.

He listened for a footstep,
Then he hurried on the street,
But the wind roared with such fury,
Till he scarce could keep his feet.

A few there were who passed him,
But they had no time to stay;
They did not even stop to look,
But hurried quick away.

He passed the marts of business,
Where the gaslights were