"Oh, forgive me! Oh, forgive me!" Thus my sister Edna prayed-- "Oh, forgive me!" "Edna! Edna!" That was all my mother said. But she oped her arms unto her, Drew her upward to her breast, And in fair and tearful beauty Bowed that gentle head to rest. "Well I loved Lord Ronald, mother, Ay, far better than my life; Home I come to thee," said Edna, "Proudly his acknowledged _wife_. "Cared he not for rank or station, But a loving heart sought he; Mother, sister, love my husband-- See, he claims it now of ye." Turned we then. He stood beside us, Bending low with manly grace, With his soul's true love for Edna Lighting up his noble face. We are happy, I and mother, Now that all our care has gone; Ever seems it like a shadow Scarcely cast ere it had flown. VETERAN SAILOR'S SONG. BY "CARYL." The flag that floats above us, boys, So proudly in the gale, Old Neptune never yet had seen, When first I clewed a sail; St. George's cross flamed o'er the seas With undisputed sway, With English oak, and British tars, Beneath it, in that day. The Stars and Stripes above us, boys, Since then have been unfurled; In tempest tried, baptized in blood; 'Tis the pride of Ocean-world! And freer, nobler hearts sustain Your banner floating proud; Than e'er before Atlantic bore, Or wrapped in seaman's shroud. The glorious flag above us, boys, Was ne'er disgraced in fight; No foeman ever saw it struck, But dearly bought the sight; Wherever prow has cleft the waves, In every zone and sea, 'Tis known and honored as the flag Of a nation brave and free. REMEMBER THE POOR. BY MRS. C. H. ESLING. Oh! remember the poor, said a sad little voice, As the shadow of evening grew dim, And the thick, heavy snow-flakes fell silently down, Benumbing each half-covered limb; Oh! remember the poor, and the face of the child Was as white as the thick-falling snow, And my heart, how it readily aided my hand, In the little I had to bestow! A smile checked the tear in her dim, sunken eye, As she clasped the small alms in her hand, And I thought what a joy in this bright world of ours, The wealthy might have at command; To purchase a smile from a grief-stricken heart, To chase back the tear ere 'tis shed, To call a glad look to a wan, saddened face, With a pittance that scarce would buy bread. Oh think, ye glad children of affluence, think, As ye sit by the firelight's glow, Yes, think, as it gleams on your carpeted floor, Of the poor little feet in the snow.