A girl with roses on her breast, And with a look upon her face, The sweet girl-face of Heaven's own grace, As through the dance she smiling led Her youthful guests, with airy tread. "Ah, would she smile on me like this And would she give me kiss for kiss If I could stand there at her side?" The wistful watcher softly cried. Even as she spoke she closer crept, Upon the broad low terrace stept, And nearer leaned.--Just then, just there, A street light sent a sudden glare Across her face.--One startled glance, And from the changes of the dance. With beating heart and eyes dilate. The girlish mistress of the fête Sprang swiftly forth.--A moment more And through the window's opened door Another guest was ushered in. Her lip was pale, her cheek was thin, No costly robe of silk and lace Apparelled her, and 011 her face And in her dark bewildered eyes A shock of fear and shamed surprise Did wildly, desperately gleam, While here and there, as in a dream, She vaguely heard, yet did not hear, The sound of voices far and near. She tried to speak: some word she said Of all her troubled doubt and dread, Some childish word--"what would they do?" Then all at once a voice rang through Her troubled doubt, her troubled fear, "What will they do, why, this--and this!" And on her cold lips dropped a kiss, And found her frozen figure crept A tender clasp.--She laughed and wept And laughed again, for this and this, This tender clasp, this tender kiss, Wras more than all her dream come true: Was earth with Heaven's light shining through; Was Christ's own promise kept aright-- His word fulfilled on Christ-day night! [Illustration: 0031] GRACIE'S FANCIES. By Brenda Aubert. |A WHIRR of wings, and a rush of feet! And quick through the driving snow and Grace, at the window, with wondering eyes Watches their coming in shy surprise: [Illustration: 0032] sleet A flock of snow-birds, tiny and brown, On the gnarled old plum-tree settle down! A moment she watches the chirping band, Her sweet face resting upon her hand, "O mamma, look! it is snowing brown" She cries as the birdlings flutter down. Then cries--and a laugh slips out with the words "Why, mamma, the snow-flakes have turned to birds WAITING A WINTER'S TALE. By Mrs. Sallie M. B. Piatt. |SOME sweet things go just to make room for others: The blue field-blossom hurries from the dew, (My little maiden, hush your noisy brothers!) And see, the wild-rose reddens where it grew! The green leaf fades that you may see the yellow; We have the honey when we miss the bee;