204 Her smile is as a listening child's She leans from out our clinging arms To rest herself in thine; Oh, less for her than for ourselves J. G. Whittier. Lifted Over. As tender mothers guiding baby steps, H. H. 7 Troubles.-The East YOUTitical Corruption.-A ests.-Huntingdon. - A Her smile is as a listening chi D'Angri.—Mr. and 1 Who hears its mother call; The lilies of thy perfect peace She leans from out our clingin d Miss Elsworthy.-II T e action of the Ferry C klyn, in refusing to gran deration with the reside quite a strong feeling is lege on the New York si nder certain conditions To rest herself in thine; r fulfil it or lose their let nsiderable talk of mak Oh, less for her than for ourse to connect the two citie le that it can be accomp 1expense as compared v rable to the enterprize, a will be necessary. My Arried out. Either it, or Lifted Over. it the corner of Broadwa proper elevation, will As tender mothers guiding baby stylyn. Where places come at which the tifact, not at all flattering and in the special sessi So did our Father watch the precic Led o'er the stones by me, who stu ried, 4,215. In the tw were 5.389 cases. all bu Myself, but strove to help my only 91 were sober when e-"the days of the Rept inues until politicians are red unnumbered. That's roof of this I may state t on of President Pierce's fa of others, however, and rable. ou will remember that s summer upon Diamond F ot appear to have been week, it received "blasts possible would have sh ctly in the channel bet ery and two ships with 'v must be taken into dock, ey flats! The amount of than sufficient for INDEX OF FIRST LINES. Poems marked thus (*) have been printed only in part. • all nigli now A new Birt а After our child's untroubled breath A little fold of hands *All as God wills, who wisely heeds All that God wounds he constantly is healing Answer me, burning stars of night A snowflake falls from out the air above As tender mothers guiding baby steps. At eve it shall be light, the promise reads All in our manage gardin (child.). Beside a massive gateway built up in years gone by Blindfolded and alone I wait Brother, the angels say Buried to-day Call Unbeard, the *Children are God's Apostles Climbing the mountain's shaggy crest Come forth, come forth with solemn song Crossing Dead! do you say that he is dead? Drifting away like mote on the stream *Farewell! since nevermore for thee Father, before thy footstool kneeling Father, into thy loving hands *Fear death? — to feel the fog in my throat. . 149 . 174 . 130 It singeth low in every heart It was a tender hand that drew my boy away *I will not mock thee with the poor world's common I will not think the last farewell we hear I cannot say & will nov Life and thought have gone away Life! I know not what thou art say. . 208- 148 170 . 116. . 190 . 155 52 That he is dead, 1324 113 150 234+ 234+ |