HOLIDAY GIFT.

My children, I am glad to see Your holidays have come; For much it does delight my heart To see you all at home. And that you have behaved so well, Gives me still greater joy; For greatly does your happiness Your mother’s thoughts employ. The promise that I gave you all Most strictly I regard, And dearly do I love to give My children their reward. So here is a guinea, Charles, for you, To buy that pretty sword, Which, when you asked me for last spring, I could not then afford. And, Emma, one for you and Ann, Between you to divide; As Charles is older than yourselves, I hope you’re satisfied.

Oh yes, mamma, ’tis quite enough, We could not wish for more; We never in our lives have had One half as much before.

Mamma, you seem to be perplexed With some unpleasant care; You smile, but then ’tis not the smile That I have seen you wear. Pray, tell me is it anything That I have said or done? I hope, mamma, I never shall Be an ungrateful son.

Oh, no, my child; you ever have Been dutiful and kind, But still, there is a circumstance That has perplexed my mind. You know that worthy family That lived up on the hill,— Poor Mr. Smith, the clever man, That used to tend the mill. Last spring, his wife and little ones Were very sick, you know; When they recovered, he was seized, And died a week ago. This very morning, Mrs. Smith Came here to ask relief; Poor woman! she looked pale and thin, And overwhelmed with grief. “Dear madam, I am grieved to come And trouble you,” she said; “But new afflictions seem to fall In torrents on my head. “Some time before my husband died, We owed a quarter’s rent, He laid it up, and would, no doubt, Have paid it—every cent. “But when our earnings all were stopp’d, And we so long were ill, I was obliged to take it all, To pay the doctor’s bill. “This very morn our landlord came, And sternly bade me pay; I told him all, and begged he’d wait A little longer day. “‘Wait longer? No, indeed I wont; Too long I have waited now; So pay, or you’ll march out of doors, And I shall take your cow.’” The widow wept, and then she said, “I am willing to be poor,— But yet to lose my only cow Seems too much to endure.”

Here, take this money, ma, and pay As far as it will go; I had rather never have a sword Than she should suffer so.

And ours, mamma; do take it all, To pay that cruel man; And pray make haste before he comes To frighten them again.

Come to my arms, my precious ones, I only meant to see Whether your little hearts were warmed With sweet humanity. I’ll take your money for this debt,— And never did I pay A sum away with such delight, As I shall do this day. Come, then, my children, let us go; It is a bless’d employ To cheer the widow’s heart and fill The fatherless with joy.

Oh, do not neglect Your practice, my dear; Papa will expect Some good music to hear; For he has been absent Almost a whole year.