A PICTURE.
Dainty little Marguerite,
Tripping down the stair,
With the dancing sunlight
In her golden hair,
Through the open doorway,
In the sunny brightness,
Where the morning-glories
Nod in airy lightness.
Mamma, coming downwards,
Sees her darling stand,
Snowy ruffled apron
Held in either hand,
Making stately courtesy
With a childlike grace,
And a reverent brightness
On her upturned face.
"What art doing, baby?"
Called the mother's voice,
While the pretty picture
Made her heart rejoice.
Morning-glories kissed the curls
The open brow adorning,
As the little maid replied,
"I'm wishing God good morning."
JACK BARLOW.