Father says: "Thee certainly may, dear child! For my part, I trust my little lass."
The Lighthouse Lamp.
BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER.
The winds came howling down from the north,
Like a hungry wolf for prey,
And the bitter sleet went hurtling forth,
In the pallid face of the day.
And the snowflakes drifted near and far,
Till the land was whitely fleeced,
And the light-house lamp, a golden star,
Flamed over the waves' white yeast.
In the room at the foot of the light-house
Lay mother and babe asleep,
And little maid Gretchen was by them there,
A resolute watch to keep.
There were only the three on the light-house isle,
But father had trimmed the lamp,
And set it burning a weary while
In the morning's dusk and damp.
"Long before night I'll be back," he said,
And his white sail slipped away;
Away and away to the mainland sped,
But it came not home that day.