Yes, mother; yes, to-night,
Trust me with that Masonic jewel, I
Will keep it safe; perhaps this very man
May know of some one who would like to buy,
At least he'll let me know its worth, I can
But do the right.
Mother, deny me not,
I'll go as "Esther went unto the king,
God will protect me if the night is wild;
Perhaps some bright ray of sunshine I may bring,
Pray that good angels may surround your child,
And guard her lot."
Ethel's Mission.
Out in the blinding and pitiless sleet,
The young girl goes on her errand blest;
She starts at each sound on the lonely street,
As she longs for, but dares not dream of rest.
She knows not the worth of the gem she holds
Close to her breast, in her thinly clad hands;
A martyr's courage her soul enfolds,
And a guardian angel near her stands.
She shudders oft as she passes by
Some staggering form, whose ribald curse
Seems, 'mid the storms of that stormy sky,
To make the loneliness ten times worse.
Now on the icy pavement she stands,
Now is plunged deep in a drift of snow,
Now she is rubbing her freezing hands
Scarcely knowing which way she must go.
She thinks of the past, the long dark past,
And blights that follow a drunkard's child,
And the tears she strive's to check fall fast,
And turn to ice in that night so wild.
For we all know how, in the darkest shade,
Dreams of the sunniest light will come
To one in a foreign hospital laid,
No words so dear as, "My home, sweet home!"
And Ethel sees visions of sunny bowers
Where once she played with the ring-doves mild,
'Mid the piercing blast she can scent the flowers
She plucked with joy when a little child.