(Walter And Freddie.)

From morn to eve, from evening unto morning, I mourn and cannot rest; So mourns the mother bird when home returning She finds an empty nest.

I mourn the little children of my dwelling, That are forever gone, Sorrows that mothers feel my heart is swelling, And so I make my moan.

One little blossom on my bosom faded, And passed from me away, But near my door the drooping willows shaded My little boys at play

My boys that came with flying feet to meet me, And questions wondrous wise, And bits of news which they had brought to greet me, And see my glad surprise

Bitter for sweet no human hand can alter Nor bid one sorrow pass, With sudden stroke our darling little Walter Was laid beneath the grass

Ah then it was to me an added sorrow, To hear his brother moan, Where's little Walter, will he come to morrow I cannot play alone?

The summons for the child had come already Which said I must resign The best beloved, the precious little Freddie, To other arms than mine

How still and lone are the familiar places Where little pattering feet Made music for me, and I saw bright faces Dimple with laughter sweet

My arms are empty that woold fain be folding My lost ones to my breast, But well I know, the Father's face beholding, They are forever blest.

From Christ's dear words my bleeding heart would gather At length submissive grace,-- He says that in the kingdom of His Father, They still behold His face.

In the bright garden of the Lord they're staying, Amid the angels fair; And heavenly whispers to my heart are saying-- Look up, your treasure's there.

THE SONG OF THE BEREAVED.

(I have borrowed thy pattern, dear Hood, to cut out our mourning garments.)

With garments for sorrow torn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat by a new-made grave, Bewailing her slaughtered dead-- Weep! weep! weep! Tears of remorseful pain; The sorrow that sorrows without a hope, Is poured forth above the slain.

Drink! drink! drink! It slayeth on every side, Till the blue-eyed baby is fatherless, And a desolate widow the bride. O for a gleam of light On the home, on the friendly hand, That pours in kindness the burning draught That maketh a desolate land.

Drink! drink! drink! The horse-leech ever craves, There are empty chairs in the desolate home, And the earth swells with new-made graves. Cellar, saloon, and bar, Bar, cellar, saloon, And a wasted life, and a hopeless death, Is the tempted victim's doom

O men with the friendly treat! O women with New Year's wine! It is not liquor you're pouring out, But your child's blood and mine, Drink! drink! drink! In joyous youthful prime, Drink that marks out the downward road To want and disease and crime

Drink in the lordly hall, Pour out the blood-red wine,-- And grey hairs sorrow over the grave, That is dug before its time Drink for the darling son, Till the softened brain goes mad, And darkness falls on the father's life Which is bound in the life of the lad.

Every unwilling slave Standeth on the bedroom's brink, But what will free the body and soul That is enslaved by drink? Bar, cellar, saloon, Cellar, saloon and bar Alas, that the demon of drink slays more By far than the demon of war

Drink! drink! drink! Till manhood and pride are gone, Drink over the grave of self-respect, And then in despair drink on. Drink! drink! drink! Drink at the fearful cost Of knowing that though still cursed with life, Yet hope is forever lost.

Our brightest go down to death, We cannot our dearest save; And we dare not think of the judgment seat That lieth beyond the grave. Drink! drink! drink! So many are licensed to sell, Drink; you will surely find the house, Whose guests find the way to hell.

Oh for the plighted band Of those who are bound to save Their fellow men from the fearful doom That extends beyond the grave! Alas! they are trying hard To do, what they cannot do, To wage a war to the uttermost, And only hurt a few.

Bar, cellar, saloon, Cellar, saloon and bar Are swiftly, surely, doing their work As those who in earnest are; And the moderate drinker stands, Kind, at the head of the way, And opens the gate, with friendly hands, Of the road that leads astray.

Of the road that leads astray, And never will stop to think That the shroud is sewed, and the grave is dug, For the lost by moderate drink; And the banded are loath to strike, They have friends on the other side, And therefore "Hell hath enlarged herself" And opened her mouth so wide

The strong and the brave are lost, Do we keep the tender and fair? Does the demon who strikes down fathers and sons, All the daughters and sisters spare? Bar cellar saloon Cellar, saloon and bar,-- Oh! who will preach a new crusade, Or join in this holy war?

With garments for sorrow torn,-- With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat by a new made grave, Bewailing over the dead Weep! weep! weep! How many will weep in vain? How many will rise in a holy cause, That the slayer may be slain?