JOHNNIE'S CHRISTMAS.
[This, and three other pieces of poetry, including the one given last month, were written for a boy who recently died. After long and severe suffering he was seized with a fit. He held up both arms, and, as the struggles ceased, he looked up and said, "Come! Come!" His mother asked him if he thought he should go to heaven. He replied, "I'm sure of it. Jesus told me He would take me, and He wouldn't have said it if He didn't mean it."—Ed.]
Hang out the toys for the little ones;
Pile up the raisins, and take out the stones;
But nut, and pudding, and Christmas tree,
Says little Johnnie, are not for me.
If the children frolic I have to start,
With a bitter pain at my silent heart;
And my throbbing head is afraid to move
At sound of the voices which most I love.
It is nice to feel, though sitting here,
That mother is with me, and baby dear,
For some of my little friends have lain
On a hospital bed, in lonely pain.
Oh, God, my Friend, Thou art surely kind,
And we, poor sinners, are weak and blind;
Little we think, and little know,
Of the love that suffered for human woe.
We hail Thy birth with a gladsome song,
But Thou hadst sorrow life's journey long;
And Thou hadst power Thyself to free,
Yet chose to suffer for things like me.
Oh, come to my heart this Christmas Day!
I am weak and weary, and far away;
Since help and mercy are Thy delight,
Oh, come to my father's house to-night!
Bring rest for my mother, and joy for me;
My head will not throb as I listen to Thee;
And my heart, though too weak for a footfall below,
Will bound, without aching, Thy coming to know.
Thou callest the children, and I am a child;
Thou callest the guilty, and I am defiled;
They gather about Thee in joyful array;
Oh, put me among them, Lord Jesus, to-day!
Put one of my hands in that right hand of Thine,
And hold out Thy wounds to Thy Father divine;
He would not, He could not, say nay unto Thee,
And I should for ever Thy diadem be.
M. A. CHAPLIN.
Galleywood, Chelmsford.