From your holy, far off Heaven,
  When the beams of twilight wane,
Thro’ the jasper gates of even
  Breathe those trustful words again;
They shall aid and cheer me still,
  What-so-ever fate befall,
Since thro’ every good and ill
  God’s dear love is over all!

MEASURING THE BABY.

We measured the riotous baby
  Against the cottage wall: 
A lily grew at the threshold,
  And the boy was just so tall;
A royal tiger lily,
  With spots of purple and gold,
And a heart like a jeweled chalice,
  The fragrant dews to hold.

Without the blue birds whistled,
  High up in the old roof trees;
And to and fro at the window
  The red rose rocked her bees;
And the wee pink fists of the baby
  Were never a moment still,
Snatching at shine and shadow,
  That danced on the lattice sill!

His eyes were wide as blue-bells,
  His mouth like a flower unblown,
Two little barefeet, like funny white mice,
  Peept out from his snowy gown;
And we thought, with a thrill of rapture. 
  That yet had a touch of pain—­
When June rolls around with her roses
  We’ll measure the boy again!

Ah me!  In a darkened chamber,
  With the sunshine shut away,
Thro’ tears that fell like a bitter rain
  We measured the Boy to-day! 
And the little bare feet, that were dimpled,
  And sweet as a budding rose,
Lay side by side together,
  In the hush of a long repose!

Up from the dainty pillow,
  White as the rising dawn,
The fair little face lay smiling
  With the light of Heaven thereon! 
And the dear little hands, like rose leaves
  Dropt from a rose, lay still,
Never to snatch at the sunshine,
  That crept to the shrouded sill!

We measured the sleeping baby
  With ribbons white as snow,
For the shining rose-wood casket
  That waited him below;
And out of the darkened chamber
  We crept with a childless moan: 
To the height of the sinless Angels
  Our little one had grown!

THE LIGHT OF DREAMS.

Last night I walked in happy dreams,
  The paths I used to know;
I heard a sound of running streams,
  And saw the violets blow;
I breathed a scent of daffodils;
  And faint and far withdrawn,
A light upon the distant hills,
  Like morning, led me on.

And childish hands clung fast to mine,
  And little pattering feet
Trod with me thro’ the still sunshine
  Of by-ways green and sweet;
The flax-flower eyes of tender blue,
  The locks of palest gold,
Were just the eyes and locks I knew
  And loved, and lost—­of old!

By many a green familiar lane
  Our pathway seemed to run
Between long fields of waving grain,
  And slopes of dew and sun;
And still we seemed to breathe alway
  A scent of daffodils,
And that soft light of breaking day
  Shone on the distant hills.