Daughter of want, and wrong, and woe, "Avis!". With Saxon eye and cheek, Drew near to greet us, - spoke, and smiled. God gave that sweet sad smile she wore Her footsteps through a world of sin. "And who is Avis?"-Hear the tale The calm-voiced matrons gravely tell, The story known through all the vale Where Avis and her sisters dwell. With the lost children running wild, Strayed from the hand of human care, They find one little refuse child Left helpless in its poisoned lair. The primal mark is on her face, - The chattel-stamp, the pariah-stain That follows still her hunted race, The curse without the crime of Cain. How shall our smooth-turned phrase relate So turned the rose-wreathed revelers pale. Ah, veil the living death from sight The white-lipped nurses hurry by. Take her, dread angel! Break in love But Avis answered, "She is mine." The task that dainty menials spurn The fair young girl has made her own; Her heart shall teach, her hand shall learn The toils, the duties yet unknown. So Love and Death in lingering strife Still battling for the spoil of Life While the slow seasons creep away. Love conquers Death; the prize is won; The dusky daughter of the sun, The bronze against the marble breast! Her task is done; no voice divine Has crowned her deeds with saintly fame. No eye can see the aureole shine That rings her brow with heavenly flame. Yet what has holy page more sweet, Or what had woman's love more fair, When Mary clasped her Saviour's feet With flowing eyes and streaming hair? Meek child of sorrow, walk unknown, THE SNOW had begun in the gloaming, Had been heaping field and highway Every pine and fir and hemlock Wore ermine too dear for an earl, And the poorest twig on the elm-tree Was ridged inch deep with pearl. From sheds new-roofed with Carrara Came Chanticleer's muffled crow; The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down, And still fluttered down the snow. I stood and watched by the window I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn Up spoke our own little Mabel, Saying, "Father, who makes it snow?" And I told of the good All-father Who cares for us here below. Again I looked at the snow-fall, And thought of the leaden sky That arched o'er our first great sorrow, When that mound was heaped so high. I remembered the gradual patience And again to the child I whispered, "The snow that husheth all, Darling, the merciful Father Alone can make it fall!" Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her That my kiss was given to her sister, Folded close under deepening snow. ; -James Russell Lowell. CHILD AND MOTHER. LOVE thy mother, little one! Gaze upon her living eyes, And mirror back her love for thee! Press her lips, the while they glow, Oh, revere her raven hair, |