Such beautiful, beautiful hands!

They're growing feeble now;

For time and pain have left their mark

On hand, and heart, and brow.
Alas! alas! the wearing time,

And the sad, sad day to me,

When 'neath the daisies, out of sight,
These hands will folded be.

But oh, beyond this shadowy damp,
Where all is bright and fair,

I know full well these dear old hands
Will palms of victory bear;

When crystal streams. thro' endless years,
Flow over golden sands,

And where the old grow young again,

I'll clasp my mother's hands.

-Anonymous.

HOME.

Most fair, most bright art thou, dear, peaceful home,
Of all best earthly gifts by Heaven bestowed
Man's pilgrim path to cheer. Ever thou art
A refuge from the storm; from the rough wind
A covert. All, who may, in each dark hour
When sorrows bow the soul, or when of care
The lighter burden wearily doth press,

Fly to thy bosom, and, secluded, find

In thy sweet influence solace and repose.

Who know thee not-alas, that such should be!Pine for thee, and still hope, though hope deferred Hath oft made sick the heart, that yet for them Some spot shall bear thy well-beloved name.

"Home, 't is to Heaven's wise law we mortals owe
Thee and all thine. In the first home was placed
Not Adam sole; with him the gentle Eve.
Woman, man's other self, in whom alone
His complement he finds."

Home hath its tasks. Each day demands anew
The thoughtful purpose and the skillful hand.

But, blessed home, these are not all thy joys;
Yet undiscovered are thy purest springs,

The streams untasted yet of holiest bliss
From wedded love by God ordained to flow.

Resign your old ambitions, pleased to dwell
Amid home's peacefulness and with such tasks
As here the tranquil days may best beguile,
To wait till evening shadows gently fall.
Home hath not lost its sweetness, its content,
Though missed the cheerful voices, heard of old
Echoing through hall and chamber.

Oh, haste the happy day when o'er the world-
The wide, wide world-bright altar fires shall burn
On household shrines all countless as the sands!
When homeless thousands shall no more be found
Far scattered without shepherd, wandering sheep
Unpitied, left of savage beasts the prey!

Know that when homes shall perish states shall fall,
And earth, e'en as the nether world, be hell!

The citadel of hope for earth is home;

Home, the best type that earth affords of heaven.

Hath not the Master said

That in his Father's house, for loving souls
Are many mansions, whither safely led,
And made one family, they shall with him,
Their Elder Brother, dwell, forever one?

Home hath its festal days-its holy times-
When fresh delights exhilarate; when Mirth
Seizes the scepter and asserts her reign,
And Laughter, her prime minister, she bids
Wake rapturous echoes all her realm around!
When on affection's altar, with one will,

The gathered household their fresh offerings lay;

Intent that there, like holy altar-fire,

Love's quenchless flame may ever brightly burn.

-Ray Palmer, in "Home; or, The Unlost Paradise."

MAKE YOUR MOTHER HAPPY.

Children, make your mother happy;
Make her sing instead of sigh;
For the mournful hour of parting
May be very, very nigh.

Children, make your mother happy;

Many griefs she has to bear,

And she wearies 'neath her burdens;

Can you not those burdens share?

Children, make your mother happy;
Prompt obedience cheers the heart;
While a willful disobedience

Pierces like a poisoned dart.

Children, make your mother happy;
On her brow the lines of care
Deepen daily, don't you see them?
While your own are smooth and fair.

Children, make your mother happy;
For beneath the coffin-lid

All too soon her face, so saintlike,
Shall forevermore be hid.

Bitter tears and self-upbraiding
Cannot bring her back again;
And remorseful recollections
Are a legacy of pain.

Oh, begin to-day, dear children,
Listen when your mother speaks;
Tender quick and sweet obedience,

For your highest good she seeks.

She loves you better than all others;
For your sake herself denies;
Always patient, prayerful, tender,
Ever thoughtful, true, and wise.

Remember while you live, dear children,
Should you search the rounded earth,
You'll never find a friend more faithful
Than the one who gave you birth.

-Anonymous.

WE CAN MAKE HOME HAPPY.

Though we may not change the cottage
For a mansion tall and grand,

Or change the little grass-plat

For a boundless stretch of land-
Yet there's something brighter, dearer,
Than the wealth we 'd thus command.

Though we have no means to purchase
Costly pictures, rich and rare,
Though we have no silken hangings
For the walls so cold and bare,
We can hang them o'er with garlands,
For flowers bloom everywhere.

We can always make home cheerful,
If the right course we begin;
• We can make its inmates happy
And their truest blessings win;
It will make the small room brighter
If we let the sunlight in.

We can gather round the fireside

When the evening hours are long;
We can blend our hearts and voices
In a happy social song;

We can guide some erring brother,
Lead him from the path of wrong.

We may fill our home with music,
And with sunshine brimming o'er,
If against all dark intruders

We will firmly close the door;
Yet, should evil shadows enter,
We must love each other more.

There are treasures for the lowly

Which the grandest fail to find; There's a chain of sweet affection Binding friends of kindred mindWe may reap the choicest blessings From the poorest lot assigned.

-Anonymous.

CHILDHOOD.

Before life's sweetest mystery still
The heart in reverence kneels;

The wonder of the primal birth

The latest mother feels.

We need love's tender lessons taught

As only weakness can;

God bath his small interpreters

The child must teach the man.