A STORY OF CHRISTMASTIDE.

FAST fades the year, and Christmas time Has travelled round again;

The naked trees are shivering

Upon the barren plain.

But we will leave the Christmas sports,

And all the Christmas fare,

To watch a lady in a court

Of London town so fair.

Take care, take care, the place is dark,
The narrow stair is steep,
And broken, too, and dangerous-
She'll scarce her footing keep.

But up she goes; she's at the door,
And trembles now with fear;
She'd better far go back again,
The dwelling looks so queer.

One cannot tell what people dwell
In such abodes as these :
The worst of thieves and murderers
Might shelter here with ease.

But here she stops, she fears to knock,
Yet will not go away,

For she has heard the folks will starve If left another day.

She stands and listens for awhile-

The door is just ajar—

And dimly now she can observe

A boy and woman there.

The woman's voice is sweet and low,

Her face is very pale,

But there's a calm upon her brow
That tells a thoughtful tale.

What have they in that dismal place?
The room looks very bare.
There's something like a wretched bed,
And children sleeping there.

The woman's light is burning low,
She lays her work aside,

And still keeps talking to her boy,
Who listens at her side.

"I do not yet despair, my child,
We've been as low before;

And God has not forgot His way
Unto the widow's door.

"We have no food nor work to do,
We've neither light nor fire;
But still my heart says, ' God is true,
Though man may be a liar.'

"I've proved Him oft through years gone by

That He will not forsake

Will not forsake me utterly,

Though sore my

heart may ache.

"He feeds the ravens when they call,
He clothes the lilies fine,
And He has numbered every hair
Upon your head and mine.

"I say it, James, with sense of sin,
And yet with humble trust,
That we have tried to do His will,
And sought His kingdom first.

"I do not claim as our desert
That God should give us bread;
But He has promised that He will;
And there my faith is stayed.

"Your father, on the day he died,
In deep and earnest prayer
Gave up his helpless family

To God's almighty care.

"He knew the world was rough and wild,

And all its ways uneven ;

He knew we should have weary feet

Before we got to heaven.

"His prayer was heard, and heeded, too, And registered on high;

I've always felt that he was heard,
Through all our poverty.

"What but the grace of God has kept
Our hands and hearts from sin,
When day and night we've wanted bread,
And nothing coming in?

"Oh! Jemmy, lad, it was the Lord
Who kept you in the streets
From joining in with wicked boys,
Or stealing food to eat.

"Oh! many a time and many, child,
My heart has trembled through,
Lest hunger and temptation sore
Should be too strong for you.

"But you are my sweet comfort, James, My good, my honest son,

And we will trust our Father still,
And say, 'Thy will be done.'

"I once had hoped on Christmas Day
That you might have a treat;

But now I fear the little ones

Will cry for bread to eat.

"The Lord can send it if He will;
We cannot beg nor steal:

He knows we've tried in vain for work,
And now have not a meal.

""Twas on this evening, Jemmy dear,
Our Saviour came to earth;

A lowly manger was His bed,
And poor men hailed His birth.

"And now He'll not forget the poor
In poverty's dark hour;

He died to save us from our sins,
And lives to give us power.

"'Tis hard, I know, 'tis very hard
To bear these things in mind,
When all the world and everything
Looks hopeless and unkind.

But 'tis in worst extremity

The Saviour draweth nigh:

We'll tell Him once again, my child,
Of all our poverty.

She knelt beside the flickering light,
Upon the naked floor,

And lifted up her voice to God,
His mercy to implore.

And angels bowed their heads to hear.
It was a solemn sight

To see those lonely pleaders there
In that dark attic height

Speaking to Him who guides the stars,
Who makes the welkin ring,
And taketh up the islands, too,
As each a little thing.

Pleading with Him as children plead

Who know their parents' heart.
Not with a wordy eloquence,
Nor speeches framed with art,

But in a language clear and full,
And simple and sincere,
As if they knew that every word
Would reach their Father's ear.