A MOTHER'S PRAYER.

I knelt beside a little bed,

The curtains drew away,

And,‘ mid the soft, white folds beheld,

Two rosy sleepers lay;

The one had seen three summers smile

And lisped her evening prayer;

The other,— only one year's shade

Was on her flaxen hair.

No sense of duties ill performed

Weighed on each heaving breast,

No weariness of work-day care

Disturbed their tranquil rest;

The stars to them as yet were in

The reach of baby hand,

Temptation, trial, grief, were words

They could not understand.

But in the coming years I saw

The turbulence of life

O'erwhelm this calm of innocence

With melancholy strife;

“From all the foes that lurk without,

From feebleness within,

What Sovereign guard from Heaven,” I asked,

“Will strong beseeching win?”

Then to my soul a vision came,

Illuming, cheering all,

Of him who stood with shining front

On Dothan's ancient wall;

And, while his servant's heart grew faint

As he beheld with fear

The Syrian bands encompassing

The city far and near,

With lofty confidence to his

Sad questioning replied,

“Those armies are outnumbered far

By legions at our side:”

Then up from starry sphere to sphere,

Was borne the Prophet's prayer,

“Unfold to his blind sight, O God!

Thy glorious hosts and fair.”

The servant's eyes bewildered gazed

On chariots of fire,

On seraphs clad in mails of light,

Resistless in their ire;

On ranks of angels marshalled close,

Where roving comets run,

On silver shields and rainbow wings,

Outspread before the sun.

I saw the Syrian hosts, at noon,

Led sightless through the land,

And longed to grasp the Prophet's robe

Within my feeble hand;

While my whole soul went out in deep

And passionate appeal,

That faith like his might set within

My babes’ pure hearts its seal.