Such scenes and experience as have been above alluded to, must be more or less familiar to every faithful and praying mother.  Children who have been dedicated to God, as was Samuel, and David, and Timothy, in all ages of the world, will be found in after life to be, to the praise, and glory, and riches of God’s grace, vouchsafed to parents, in answer to their faith and prayers, and pious teachings.

* * * * *

THE YOUNGLING OF THE FLOCK.

  Welcome! thrice welcome to my heart, sweet harbinger of bliss! 
  How have I looked, till hope grew sick, for a moment bright as this;
  Thou hast flashed upon my aching sight when fortune’s clouds are dark,
  The sunny spirit of my dreams—­the dove unto mine ark.

  Oh! no, not even when life was new, and life and hope were young,
  And o’er the firstling of my flock with raptured gaze I hung,
  Did I feel the glow that thrills me now, the yearnings fond and deep,
  That stir my bosom’s inmost strings as I watch thy placid sleep!

  Though loved and cherished be the flower that springs ’neath summer skies,
  The bud that blooms ’mid wintry storms more tenderly we prize. 
  One does but make our bliss more bright; the other meets our eye,
  Like a radiant star, when all besides have vanished from on high.

  Sweet blossom of my stormy hour, star of my troubled heaven,
  To thee that passing sweet perfume, that soothing light is given;
  And precious art thou to my soul, but dearer far than thou,
  A messenger of peace and love art sent to cheer me now.

  What, tho’ my heart be crowded close with inmates dear though few,
  Creep in, my little smiling babe, there’s still a niche for you;
  And should another claimant rise, and clamor for a place,
  Who knows but room may yet be found, if it wears as fair a face.

  I cannot save thee from the griefs to which our flesh is heir,
  But I can arm thee with a spell, life’s keenest ills to bear. 
  I may not fortune’s frowns avert, but I can with thee pray
  For wealth this world can never give nor ever take away.

  But wherefore doubt that He who makes the smallest bird his care,
  And tempers to the new shorn lamb the blast it ill could bear,
  Will still his guiding arm extend, his glorious plan pursue,
  And if he gives thee ills to bear, will give thee courage too.

  Dear youngling of my little flock, the loveliest and the last,
  ’Tis sweet to dream what thou may’st be, when long, long years have past;
  To think when time hath blanched my hair, and others leave my side,
  Thou may’st be still my prop and stay, my blessing and my pride.

And when this world has done its worst, when life’s fevered fit is o’er,
And the griefs that wring my weary heart can never touch it more,
How sweet to think thou may’st be near to catch my latest sigh,
To bend beside my dying bed and close my glazing eye.