She lights the candles, and smoothes her hair, And breathes for her loved ones a silent prayer; Then goes to her work with happy heart, Cheerfully doing the house-wife’s part; And once again she can seem to feel The well known move of her spinning-wheel. As she fondly dreams of those days of yore She hears a whisper beside her door; Then close to her side the children creep:— “Why, Grandma has fallen fast asleep!” She hears one say, as they tip-toe out: “I wonder what she’s dreaming about.” Little they know what memories arise When Grandmother thinks with half-closed eyes. DILIGENCE. He who cannot do to-morrow Better than he does to-day Is a creature of dishonor And a failure all the way. From to-day’s accomplished labor Comes the morrow near at hand, Just as yesterday’s completion Brought to-day’s ambitions grand. All the past is antiquated,— Useful but for present guide, And if followed makes the future All that has been hoped and tried. He who will not wisely labor For the Present that is here, Rather than prefer past pleasures Or a future’s coming cheer; Is, among the world’s great workers, But a tramp, whom few can trust, Who destroys the best of morals Or is held in sheer disgust. Happy hearts and willing workers Make this earth a better place, And receive the Father’s blessing, When they see Him face to face. THE BABY. Within his little crib the baby lies; And ’neath the lashes of his closing eyes I catch a glimpse of summer’s bluest skies. His tiny head, upon its pillow white, Is crowned with curls, like sunshine fair and bright, Half hidden now from his admirer’s sight. His cheek, soon flushed in a refreshing sleep, Is like the petal of a wild-rose deep, While in and out the pretty dimples peep. His rose-bud mouth, in such an hour as this, Invites the pleasure of a loving kiss, Which even strangers could not take amiss. His tiny teeth are like the precious pearls And, when his lip in childish laughter curls, They shine, as perfect as a baby girl’s. His shapely ears, like sea-shells pink and small, Which soon discern the mother song and call, Can quickly hear the slightest sound of all. His little nose, not yet in proper style, Which mother models every little while, Is quite enough to make a critic smile. His dimpled hands, unlike the restless feet Securely pinned within his blanket neat, Oft find a place outside the snowy sheet. When baby sleeps the house is hushed and lone; His rubber playthings to the floor are thrown, While patient pussy seeks her peace unknown. When baby wakes the house is filled with joy; His lusty cries no loving heart annoy, While mother runs to take her darling boy. GOD’S LOVE.