POE TRY.

INNOCENTS' DAY.

" 0, the evening skies were riven, And we tumbled out of heaven, And we run the winter meadows till the coming of tho light."

" What names are ye called by, children, children P

Above your empty cradles what mother sits forlorn ? "

" No mother's voice we knew, And no mother's breast we drew, And for names, we never bore them, for we died ere we were born."

"What 'have ye forsaken, children, children,

To run in furrowed meadows where the winter winds are

cold ? "

" We have left in heaven high Where the mighty angels fly Our places on the shining steps of Mary's throne of gold."

"And how will ye return, my children, children ?

O little-winged and naked limbed, ye cannot fly so far."

" 0, the good St. John will spread His mantle wide and red, And lift us through the morning and beyond the morning star.

He will lift us to the gate where the mighty angels wait, And we shall play their feet among another long year through.

For to-night, to-night alone, Forsake we Mary's throne

To run the earth a little while, the earth we never knew."

L. L.