Come! I'll pile some bits o' stoan

Round thi dwellin' ;

They may cheer thee when I've goan,Theer 's no tellin';

An' when Spring's mild day draws near I'll release thee, niver fear!

An' if then thi pretty face

Greets me smilin',

I may come an' sit by th' place,
Time beguilin',

Glad to think I'd paar to be
Of some use if but to thee !

CUDDLE DOON

THE bairnies cuddle doon at nicht
Wi' muckle faught an' din;
"Oh try and sleep, ye waukrife rogues,
Your faither 's comin' in."
They never heed a word I speak;
I try to gie a froon,
But aye I hap them up an' cry,
"Oh, bairnies, cuddle doon."

Wee Jamie wi' the curly heid

He aye sleeps next the wa'
Bangs up an' cries, "I want a piece;"
The rascal starts them a'.

I rin an' fetch them pieces, drinks,
They stop awee the soun',
Then draw the blankets up an'
cry,
"Noo, weanies, cuddle doon."

But, ere five minutes gang, wee Rab

Cries out, frae 'neath the claes, "Mither, mak' Tam gie ower at ance, He's kittlin' wi' his taes." The mischief's in that Tam for tricks, He'd bother half the toon; But aye I hap them up and cry, "Oh, bairnies, cuddle doon."

At length they hear their faither's fit,
An', as he steeks the door,
They turn their faces to the wa',

While Tam pretends to snore. "Hae a' the weans been gude?" he asks,

As he pits aff his shoon; "The bairnies, John, are in their beds, An' lang since cuddled doon."

An' just afore we bed oorsels,

We look at our wee lambs;

Tam has his airm roun' wee Rab's neck,

And Rab his airm round Tam's.
I lift wee Jamie up the bed,
An' as I straik each croon,
I whisper, till my heart fills up,
"Oh, bairnies, cuddle doon."

The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht
Wi' mirth that's dear to me;
But soon the big warl's cark an' care
Will quaten doon their glee.

Yet, come what will to ilka ane,
May He who rules aboon

Aye whisper, though their pows be bald, "Oh, bairnies, cuddle doon."

Proclaims its stormy parents; and we hear The faint far murmur of the breaking flood. We hear the sea. The sea? It is the blood

In our own veins, impetuous and near,
And pulses keeping pace with hope and
fear

And with our feelings' every shifting mood.
Lo, in my heart I hear, as in a shell,
The murmur of a world beyond the grave,
Distinct, distinct, though faint and far it be.
Thou fool; this echo is a cheat as well, -
The hum of earthly instincts; and we

crave

A world unreal as the shell-heard sea.

A FLIGHT FROM GLORY

-

ONCE, from the parapet of gems and glow, An Angel said, "O God, the heart grows cold

On these eternal battlements of gold,

Where all is pure, but cold as virgin snow.