When I reflect on the tradition of the Sioux, that once only has human life been offered in sacrifice, and then a father took the life of his son--when in the quiet night I mind me of those whose destiny seems now to be in our power for good or evil, I remember that when the world was new, Abraham, in holy faith, yet with a breaking heart, led his much-loved child--the child of hope and promise, to sacrifice his life in obedience to the command of God. Can you not see his lip quiver and his cheek turn pale as he lays him on the altar? Can you not hear the throbbings of his heart as he binds him to the wood? Abraham's son was spared, but I mind me of another sacrifice, where God spared not his own Son, but yielded him, the pure and sinless, a sacrifice for the guilt of all. A LULLABY. BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN. Lo! by the river-shore Wenona weeping, Lashed to its cradle-bed her young child sleeping, While 'neath the forest trees the dead leaves lying, Mournful, and sad, and low, the autumn winds are sighing. Lists she to hear his footstep proud advancing? Gazes, to see his tomahawk brightly glancing? Watching the tossing waves, weary and lonely, Faithful her breaking heart, loving him only. Raising her drooping form, hearing her infant cry, Pressing him to her breast, sings she a lullaby. Sleep on, my warrior son! Ne'er to his childhood's home, Waiting our greeting smile, Will thy brave father come. Shouting the loud death-cry With the grim warrior band, Singing the giant's songs, Dwells he in spirit land. Turning from brave to brave, See his keen eye As he glances around him, And smiles scornfully. I knew when he left me, (The strawberries grew On the prairies green, And the wild pigeon flew Swift o'er the spirit lakes,) Then o'er my heart Came a dark shadow Ne'er to depart. I watched, from the door Of my tupee,[18] the band As they turned from their home To the Chippeways' land. I watched and I wept, As thy father, the last Of the many tall braves, From my tearful gaze passed. Wake not, my young son, For thy father sleeps sound, And his stiffened corse lies On his enemy's ground. Wake not, my brave child, Thou wilt wrestle, too soon, With the miseries of life,-- 'Tis the red man's dark doom.