THE BABY.

WHERE did you come from, baby dear?

Out of the everywhere into here.

Gin a body could be a thocht o' grace, And no a sel' ava!

I'm sick o' my heid, and my han's and my face,

I'm sick o' the warl' and a';
An' my thochts and mysel' and a';
The licht gangs by wi' a hiss;
For thro' my een the sunbeams fa',
But my weary heart they miss.
O lassie ayont the hill!
Come ower the tap o' the hill,
Or roun' the neuk o' the hill;
Bidena ayont the hill!

A LITTLE child, beneath a tree,

Sat and chanted cheerily

A little song, a pleasant song, Which was, she sang it all day long,

"When the wind blows the blossoms fall,

But a good God reigns over all!"

There passed a lady by the way,
Moaning in the face of day:
There were tears upon her cheek,
Grief in her heart too great to speak;
Her husband died but yester-morn,
And left her in the world forlorn.

She stopped and listened to the child. That look'd to Heaven, and, singing, smiled;

And saw not, for her own despair,
Another lady, young and fair,
Who, also passing, stopped to hear
The infant's anthem ringing clear.

Had lost the little babe she bore;
And grief was heavy at her soul,
As that sweet memory o'er her stole,
And showed how bright had been the
past,

The present drear and overcast.

And as they stood beneath the tree,
Listening, soothed, and placidly,
A youth came by, whose sunken eyes,
Spake of a load of miseries;
And he, arrested like the twain,
Stopped to listen to the strain.

Death had bowed the youthful head
Of his bride beloved, his bride unwed:
Her marriage robes were fitted on,
Her fair young face with blushes
shone,

When the Destroyer smote her low, And left the lover to his woe.

And these three listened to the song Silver-toned, and sweet, and strong,