BY MRS. HALE.
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THE WATCHER. The night was dark and fearful,

 The blast swept wailing by, When a watcher, pale and fearful, Looked forth with anxious eye; How wistfully she gazeth-

 No gleam of morn is there; And the look to heaven she raiseth, Iris the agony of prayer Within that dwelling lonely,

 Where want and darkness reign, Her precious child, her only,

 Lay moaning in his pain, And death alone can free him

 She feels that this must be; "But ohl for morn to see him VI e'.,ailn- once again on me!' A hundred lights are glano;ny

 in wonder mansion rdn, --- And merry feet are dancing

 They heed not morning there; Oh, young and joyous creatures, One lamp from out your store, Would give that poor boys features To his mothers gaze once more. The morning sun is shining

 She heedeth not its ray; Beside her dead, reclining,

 That pale, dead mother lay; A smile her lips was wreathing, A smile of hope and love, As though she still were breathing There is light for us abovel"