ABOU BEN ADHEM.

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold;
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room he said,

What writest thou?" The vision raised its head,

And, with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."

"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"

Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, But cheerly still ; and said, “I pray thee, then, Write me as one who loves his fellow-men."

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night

It came again, with a great wakening light, And showed the names whom love of God

had blest;

And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. -James Henry Leigh Hunt.

BUGLE SONG.

The splendor falls on castle walls
And snowy summits old in story;
The long light shakes across the lakes,
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow! set the wild echoes flying;
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes-dying, dying,

dying!

O hark, O hear! how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, farther going!
O sweet and far, from cliff and scar,
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
Blow! let us hear the purple glens replying;
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes- dying, dying,
dying!

O love! they die in yon rich sky:

They faint on hill, or field or river; Our echoes roll from soul to soul,

And grow forever and forever.

Blow, bugle, blow! set the wild echoes flying; And answer, echoes, answer dying, dying,

dying.

-Tennyson.

LITTLE BOY BLUE.*

The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and stanch he stands ;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket moulds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new,
And the soldier was passing fair;

And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.

"Now, don't you go till I come," he said;
"And don't you make any noise!"
So toddling off to his trundle-bed
He dreamed of the pretty toys;
And as he was dreaming, an angel's song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue-
Oh, the years are many, the years are long,
But the little toy friends are true.

Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
Each in the same old place,

Awaiting the touch of a little hand,

The smile of a little face.

And they wonder, as waiting these long years through,

From

Love Songs of Childhood." Copyright, 1894, by Eugene Field. Reprinted by permission of the publishers, Chas. Scribner's

Sons.

In the dust of that little chair, What has become of our Little Boy Blue Since he kissed them and put them there

PITTYPAT AND TIPPYTOE.*

All day long they come and go —
Pittypat and Tippytoe;

Footprints up and down the hall;
Playthings scattered on the floor,
Finger marks along the wall,
Tell-tale smudges on the door; —
By these presents you shall know
Pittypat and Tippytoe.

How they riot at their play;
And a dozen times a day.

In they troop demanding bread-
Only buttered bread will do,
And that butter must be spread
Inches thick, with sugar, too;
And I never can say "No,
Pittypat and Tippytoe."

From "Love Songs of Childhood." Copyright, 1894, by F gene 'ield. Reprinted by permission of the publishers, Chas. Scriner's

Sometimes there are griefs to soothe,
Sometimes ruffled brows to smooth,
For (I much regret to say)
Tippytoe and Pittypat

Sometimes interrupt their play
With an internecine spat;
Fie, for shame to quarrel so-
Pittypat and Tippytoe.

:

Oh, the thousand worrying things
Every day recurrent brings;
Hands to scrub and hair to brush,
Search for playthings gone amiss,
Many a wee complaint to hush.
Many a little bump to kiss ;
Life seems one vain fleeting show
To Pittypat and Tippytoe.

And when day is at an end
There are little duds to mend ;

Little frocks are strangely torn,

Little shoes great holes reveal, Little hose but one day worn, Rudely yawn at toe and heel; Who but you could work such woe, Pittypat and Tippytoe?