7 APRIL 1900, Page 18

MATER DOLOROSA.

OH, my eyes were dry, and my heart was sad, When off to the wars went my soldier lad ; I spake no word, but my heart was sore, For I thought I may never look on him more.

And every night when the stars do peep, Out from the grave the long years creep ; And back to my arms comes my baby boy, My own, my darling, my pride, my joy.

And up in the North a maiden weeps, And long, long nights her vigil keeps : But her tears will be dried with the spring's return, _Wine are the tearless tears that burn.

E. M. WHEELER.