Wha fills his tummy fu' o' sweets? Wee Jim. An' then in pain sits doon an' greets? Wee Jim. Wha, when he's sufferin' wi' the bile, Through a' his pain tries hard tae wile Awa' the dose o' castor ile? Wee Jim. Wha rins aboot wi' naughty boys? Wee Jim. Wha listens words o' graceless choice? Wee Jim. Wha, like a parrit when he hears, Repeats their slang, an' a' their sweirs, An' dins them in his mither's ears? Wee Jim. Wha is't we lo'e sae awfu' dear? Wee Jim. An' wadna' tyne for gowd or gear! Wee Jim. What though he romps, an' sometimes cries, Pure innocence beams in his eyes: He's jist an angel frae the skies! Wee Jim. THE NURSES. _Suggested by a Photograph of Nurse Cavell._ A winsome woman, trig and neat, Love, kindness, beaming in her eyes; In toil through day and watch by night, She makes of self a sacrifice. Her coming, like the golden beam Of sunlight in a darkened room, Brings comfort to the sufferer's heart, Her brightness banishing the gloom. Her youth and pride of womanhood, With all their joys are put away; Her Christ-like life she dedicates And gives for frail humanity. We find her in our dear homeland, In ward and mansion, cot and hall; We find her on the stricken field, Where sorely wounded heroes fall: Ready to play her angel part, And tyrants' evil power defy, For honour, justice, love and truth, Prepared at any time to die. Then let us all revere the nurse, For virtues great and manifold; Her worth to us could not be weighed In shining bars of purest gold. THE TRUE MAN. He breathes and lives and moves along The line of his allotted span, Equipped with reason for a guide, By far the highest part of man. He cannot say from whence he came: His Maker did no message send; He cannot tell where he may be At his inevitable end. His life is more than can be seen; Upon the beauteous flower-decked ground, A deeper meaning hidden lies, Which mortal man has never found. In God's good time he will succeed The signs of Nature to define, With clearer vision then behold And realise the plan Divine. The beauteous earth gives forth her fruit When harvest suns preside above; The bloom of flowers, and singing birds Proclaim to man a God of Love. He feels the wondrous power of love, Which, caught and held by reason's sway, Will raise him to perfection's height And bring about the perfect day.