And the heavy heart of the mother Was lifted all earth-care above, As He laid His hands on the brothers, And blest them with tenderest love; As He said of the babes in His bosom, "Of such is the kingdom of heaven:" And strength for all duty and trial That hour to her spirit was given. --_Julia Gill_ [End illustration] {237} OF SUCH IS THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN I think, when I read that sweet story of old, When Jesus was here among men, How He called little children as lambs to His fold, I should like to have been with them then. I wish that His hands had been placed on my head, That His arm had been thrown around me, And that I might have seen His kind look when He said, "Let the little ones come unto Me." Yet still to His footstool in prayer I may go, And ask for a share in His love; And if I thus earnestly seek Him below, I shall see Him and hear Him above, In that beautiful place He has gone to prepare For all who are washed and forgiven; And many dear children shall be with Him there, For "of such is the kingdom of heaven." But thousands and thousands who wander and fall Never heard of that heavenly home; I wish they could know there is room for them all, And that Jesus has bid them to come. I long for the joy of that glorious time, The sweetest, the brightest, the best, When the dear children of every clime Shall crowd to His arms and be blest. --_Jemima Thompson Luke_. {238} SUN OF MY SOUL Sun of my soul, Thou Saviour dear, It is not night if Thou be near; Oh, may no earth-born cloud arise To hide Thee from Thy servant's eyes! When soft the dews of kindly sleep My weary eyelids gently steep, Be my last thought--how sweet to rest Forever on my Saviour's breast. Abide with me from morn till eve, For without Thee I cannot live; Abide with me when night is nigh, For without Thee I dare not die. Be near to bless me when I wake, Ere through the world my way I take; Abide with me till in Thy love I lose myself in heaven above. --_John Keble_. {239} DAY BY DAY Every day has its dawn, Its soft and silent eve, Its noontide hours of bliss or bale,-- Why should we grieve? Why do we heap huge mounds of years Before us and behind, And scorn the little days that pass Like angels on the wind? Each turning round a small, sweet face, As beautiful as near; Because it has so small a face We will not see it clear: We will not clasp it as it flies, And kiss its lips and brow: We will not bathe our wearied souls In its delicious Now. And so it turns from us, and goes A way in sad disdain: Though we would give our lives for it, It never comes again. {240} WHAT CAN LITTLE HANDS DO?