"Sit down around the fireside, And I my gift will tell." And the little children sat them down The fancy pleased them well. Again thus spake the eldest, "I 'll give him _beauty_ rare; His eyes shall be as diamonds bright, His brow like marble fair. "He shall have golden ringlets, His cheeks shall mock the rose; And he shall be the loveliest Where'er his light form goes." The next replied, "Oh! sister, Not such a gift is mine; For beauty's charms, though lovely, Must perish and decline. "I'll give him _wit_ and _talents_; In manhood he shall stand Among the gifted and the wise, That bless our native land." "I'll give him _sweet good-temper_," Said the third loving child; "He shall make glad our happy home By actions kind and mild." The youngest raised her wondering eyes, And said, in accents low, "I thought the gift I chose would be The first that you 'd bestow. "I'll give our little brother _Obedience_ to-day, And he shall mind, with cheerfulness, All that our parents say." Oh! blessed is the childish heart, In life's first opening dawn, For all its high and holy thoughts From heavenly founts are drawn. May our most valued blessings be Obedience and love! Our hearts, like that sweet sister's, full Of teachings from above! [Illustration] THE TWO LULLABIES. "Once songs as lullabies to thee I sung, To sleep hath sung thee now an angel's tongue." _From the German of Ruckert_. [Illustration: Letter A.] A lovely babe was lying Upon its mother's breast; And she, with soft, low music. Was hushing it to rest. The song was sweet and gentle, And loving in its tone; And in its touching tenderness A mother's love was shown. And still it floated onward, With melody so deep, Till closed the dark-fringed eyelids, The baby was asleep. And still beside his cradle She sang the same low hymn, Till he smiled, as he was sleeping, At angel fancies dim. Years passed.--The helpless infant Was now a happy boy; And often rang his laughter, In notes of heartfelt joy. Upon his mother's bosom I saw the child again; And his little head was drooping In weakness and in pain. Back from his marble forehead The hair streamed, golden bright; But yet his dark eye sparkled With more than mortal light. And suddenly he whispered, "What music sweet I hear! 'Tis not the song you used to sing At night, O mother dear! "But sweeter far, and softer, Than notes you ever sung; It is as if a silver bell Its pleasant chimings rung. "It tells of rest, dear mother, Of slumber calm and deep; And I am worn and weary, And fain 'would sink to sleep. "Darkness is closing round me-- You're fading from my sight-- I hear it still!--dear mother, Kiss me once more--good-night!" He slept; but angel voices Had sung his lullaby; And sweet shall be his waking In our Father's home on high! [Illustration]