Have CHARITY !-for though thou'st faith To make the hills remove, Thou nothing art if wanting this, The Charity of love. And though an angel's tongue were thine, Whose voice none might surpass, If Charity inspire thee not, Thou art as sounding brass.' Have CHARITY! that suffers long, Yet loves that brother still. FAITH, HOPE, and CHARITY!-of these The last is greatest, best. "Tis Heaven itself come down to dwell Within the human breast. THE LITTLE GRAVES. BY SEBA SMITH. 'Twas autumn, and the leaves were dry, And rustled on the ground, And chilly winds went whistling by With low and pensive sound, As through the grave yard's lone retreat, By meditation led, I walked with slow and cautious feet Above the sleeping dead. Three little graves, ranged side by side, My close attention drew; O'er two the tall grass bending sighed, As lingering there I mused awhile A mourner came to weep. Her form was bowed, but not with years, And on those little graves her tears A prattling boy, some four years old, And from my heart the tale he told Will never be effaced. 'Mamma, now you must love me more, 'For little sister's dead; And t'other sister died before, 'And brother too, you said. 'Mamma, what made sweet sister die ? 'She loved me when we played: 'You told me, if I would not cry, 'You'd show me where she's laid.' THE LITTLE GRAVES. 'Tis here, my child, that sister lies, 'Deep buried in the ground; 'No light comes to her little eyes, 'And she can hear no sound. Mamma, why can't we take her up, 'I'll feed her from my little cup, And then she wont be dead. 123 "For sister 'll be afraid to lie ¿ In this dark grave to-night, And she'll be very cold, and cry, 'Because there is no light.' 'No, sister is not cold, my child, For God, who saw her die, 'As He looked down from Heaven and smiled, 'Called her above the sky. And then her spirit quickly fled To God by whom 'twas given ; 'But sister lives in Heaven.' 'Mamma, wont she be hungry there, 'And want some bread to eat? 'And who will give her clothes to wear, 'And keep them clean and neat ? 6 Papa must go and carry some, 'I'll send her all I've got; 'And he must bring sweet sister home, Mamma, now must he not?' 'No, my dear child, that cannot be ; But if you're good and true, 'You'll one day go to her, but she 'Can never come to you. "Let little children come to me, 'Once the good Savior said; And in his arms she'll always be, And God will give her bread.' |