Be very grateful, children, then,
  For all that you enjoy;
Remembering, as you say those words,
  The little Irish boy.

[Illustration]

WILLIE IN HEAVEN: 

[Illustration:  Letter T.]

“They tell me in a sunny land
  Our Willie is at play;
And with him is a happy band
  Of children, good and gay.

“They say their shining robes of white
  Are free from spot or stain;
That there, where it is never night,
  They feel no grief or pain.

“But Willie shunned the stranger’s face,
  When he was with us here;
And in that new, though lovely place,
  He will be sad, I fear.

“He’ll miss me,—­though the fields are fair,
  His bright eyes will grow dim;
He has no little sister there;
  O let me go to him!”

“Our Willie is not sad, my child;
  For in that heavenly home
There dwells the blessed Saviour mild,
  Who bids the children come.

“He loves them with a purer love,
  A holier, than ours;
And leads them in the fields above,
  Where spring undying flowers.

“If no ungentle words you speak,
  No wicked actions do,
And if, with every day, you seek
  To be more kind and true,

“Then, by our darling Willie’s side,
  And joined in heart and hand,
Forevermore shall you abide,
  Among the angel band.”

THE ANGELS.

[Illustration:  Letter W.]

“Where are the angels, mother? 
  Though you have often said
They watched at night around me,
  And safely kept my bed;

“Though every night I listen
  Their voices low to hear,
Yet I have never heard them,—­
  Where are they, mother dear?

“And when the silver moonshine
  Fills all my room with light,
And when the stars are shining,
  So countless and so bright.

“I hope to see them coming,
  With their fair forms, to me;
Yet I have never seen them,—­
  Mother, where can they be?

“I saw a cloud, this evening,
  Red with the setting sun;
It was so very lovely,
  I thought it might be one.

“But when it faded slowly,
  I knew it could not be,
For they are always shining;
  Why come they not to me?”

“My child, when through your window
  Shines down the moonlight clear,—­
When all is still and silent,
  And no kind friend is near,—­

“Are you not glad and happy,
  And full of thoughts of love? 
Do you not think of heaven. 
  That brighter land above?

“These thoughts the angels bring you;
  And though the gentle tone
Of their sweet voices comes not
  When you are all alone;

“Yet they are always leaving,
  For earth, their homes on high;
And though you cannot see them,
  You feel that they are nigh.”