And stricken her poor father down,
But child exclaimed he's won the crown,
And he will watch for me afar,
And keep for me the gates ajar.
And when we cross the crystal fount,
He will point out the heavenly mount,
Here neither sun nor moon doth shine,
Lighted with radiance all divine.
For I know well for me he'll wait
Anxious at the pearly gate,
For I would fear to view alone
The glories of the heavenly throne.
Pa will admit his little Alice
Safe into the heavenly palace,
And glories to me will unfold
As we tread the streets of gold.
CHILD MADE HAPPY.
In a great city hospital
There lay poor Mary Crosby small,
She had no friends her heart to cheer,
So time with her passed sad and drear.
She sought for ease but all in vain,
Month after month she passed in pain,
She had no relative nor friend
Who aid or comfort could her lend.
A surgeon saw her cheerless state,
And deplored the poor child's fate,
She tried to make doll of her finger,
And sang to it poor little singer.
Her's indeed was an awful lot,
The weary days she spent in cot,
For the poor child she could not walk,
And it soon exhausted her to talk.