II

Now she entered the village street,
With book in hand and face demure,
And soon she came, with sober feet,

To a crying babe at a cottage door.

It wept at a windmill that would not move,
It puffed with round red cheeks in vain,
One sail stuck fast in a puzzling groove,
And baby's breath could not stir it again.

So baby beat the sail and cried,

While no one came from the cottage door;
But little Christel knelt down by its side,
And set the windmill going once more.

Then babe was pleased, and the little girl
Was glad when she heard it laugh and crow;
Thinking, "Happy windmill, that has but to
whirl,

To please the pretty young creature so.”

III

No thought of herself was in her head,

As she passed out at the end of the street, And came to a rose-tree tall and red,

Drooping and faint with the summer heat.

She ran to a brook that was flowing by,

She made of her two hands a nice round

cup,

And washed the roots of the rose-tree high,

Till it lifted its languid blossoms up.

"O happy brook!" thought little Christel, "You have done some good this summer's day,

You have made the flowers look fresh and well!"

Then she rose and went on her way.

William Brighty Rands.

A Child's Prayer

God make my life a little light,
Within the world to glow-
A tiny flame that burneth bright,
Wherever I may go.

God make my life a little flower,
That bringeth joy to all,
Content to bloom in native bower,
Although its place be small.

God make my life a little song,
That comforteth the sad,

That helpeth others to be strong,
And makes the singer glad.

M. Betham Edwards

XI

BELLS OF CHRISTMAS

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Then let the holly red be hung,
And all the sweetest carols sung,
While we with joy remember them—
The journeyers to Bethlehem.

Frank Dempster Sherman.