THE LOST BABE.

There was a bower that love had reared And beautified with care; One day a messenger appeared And asked admission there.

He was not welcome to the bower, For something in his face, Where'er he went, had always power To cloud the brightest place.

Love barred the door, and cried, "Forbear, Thou art no bidden guest"; Then gathered up her jewels rare And hid them in her breast.

Still louder knocked he than before, And still he was denied; Then, laughing at the well-barred door, He threw it open wide.

"I come from Paradise above," The messenger began: "Oh, not in anger but in love God worketh out his plan.

"Sent from the King's eternal throne My mission to fulfill, I ask one jewel of thine own,— It is the Master's will:

"One birdling from the parent nest, One lamb from out thy fold, To nestle in the Saviour's breast As did the babes of old.

"How safe! Her resting-place how sweet! But thou wilt sadly miss The busy hands, the dancing feet, The prattle and the kiss.

"There comes an hour, so long foretold That many deem it vain, When in his arms thou shalt behold That precious lamb again.

"When earth and sea at God's command Their treasures shall restore Then thou shalt clasp this little hand, Nor dread a parting more."

Love wept—her very bosom bled For that lost little one; But Faith supported her and said, "The Master's will be done."