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TOO LATE.

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U SH! speak low; tread softly;

Draw the sheet aside;

Yes, she does look peaceful;
With that smile she died.

Yet stern want and sorrow

Even now you trace
On the wan, worn features,

Of the still white face.

Restless, helpless, hopeless,

Was her bitter part;-
Now-how still the Violets

Lie upon her Heart !

She who toiled and laboured

For her daily bread;
See the velvet hangings

Of this stately bed.

Yes, they did forgive her ;

Brought her home at last; Strove to cover over

Their relentless past.

Ah, they would have given

Wealth, and home, and pride, To see her just look happy

Once before she died !

They strove hard to please her,

But, when death is near, All you know is deadened,

Hope, and joy, and fear.

And besides, one sorrow

Deeper still—one pain Was beyond them: healing

Came to day-in vain !

If she had but lingered

Just a few hours more;
Or had this letter reached her

Just one day before !

I can almost pity

Even him to-day; Though he let this anguish

Eat her heart away.

Yet she never blamed him :

One day you shall know How this sorrow happened ;

It was long ago.

I have read the letter ;

Many a weary year,
For one word she hungered

There are thousands here.

If she could but hear it,

Could bút understand ; See I put the letter

In her cold white hand.

Even these words, so longed for,

Do not stir her rest;
Well—I should not murmur,

For God judges best,

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1542 SOUD roared the Tempest,

Fast fell the sleet;
A little Child Angel
Passed down the street,
With trailing pinions,

And weary feet.

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The moon was hidden;

No stars were bright;
So she could not shelter

In heaven that night,
For the Angels' ladders

Are rays of light.

She beat her wings

At each window pane, And pleaded for shelter,

But all in vain :“ Listen,” they said,

“ To the pelting rain !""

She sobbed, as the laughter

And mirth grew higher, “ Give me rest and shelter

Beside your fire, And I will give you

Your heart's desire.”

The dreamer sat watching

His embers gleam,
While his heart was floating

Down hope’s bright stream ; ... So he wove her wailing

Into his dream.

The worker toiled on,

For his time was brief;

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