Debris | Page 8

you, do not go!"
I see it through the lapse of years--
This picture, ofttimes blurred with
tears.
No tiny hands in mine are held,
No sweet brown eyes my
pulses wake--
Only in memory a voice
E'er bids me stay for love's
sweet sake.

HANG UP YOUR STOCKING.
Laugh, little bright-eyes, hang up your stocking;
Don't count the days any more;
Old Santa Claus will soon be
knocking,
Knocking,
Knocking at the door.
Through the key-hole slyly peeping,
Down the chimney careful
creeping,
When the little folks are sleeping,
Comes he with his pack
of presents.
Such a grin! but then so pleasant
You would never
think to fear him;
And you can not, must not hear him.
He's so
particular, you know,
He'd just pick up his traps and go
If but one
little eye should peep
That he thought was fast asleep.
Searching
broomstick, nails, and shelf,
Till he finds the little stocking--
Softly
lest you hear his knocking--
Smiling, chuckling to himself,
He fills

it from his Christmas store,
And out he slips to hunt for more.
Then laugh, little bright-eyes, and hang up your stocking;
Don't count the days any more;
Old Santa Claus will soon be
knocking,
Knocking,
Knocking at the door.
OPENING THE GATE FOR PAPA.
Hurrying out to the gateway
Go two little pattering feet;
Eagerly
out through the palings
Peer two eyes bright and sweet.
A footstep as eager is answering
The sweet eyes that patiently wait

And papa is kissing, and blessing
The baby that opens the gate.
And every day all the long Summer,
At noontime and evening late,

The little one's watching for papa--
Waiting to open the gate.
And now the bright Summer is ended,
And Autumn's gay mantle
unrolled;
The maple leaves wooing the breezes
Are gorgeous in
crimson and gold.
At noonday the face at the gateway
Is flushed with a feverish glow,

At night the bright head on the pillow
Is tossing in pain to and fro.
The father kneels down in his anguish,
And stifles the sobs with
groan;
He knows that his idol is going--
Going out in the midnight
alone.
He buries his face in the pillow,
Close, close, to the fast failing breath;

A little arm clasps his neck closely,
A voice growing husky in
death
Says pleadingly, half in a whisper:
"Please, darling papa, don't cry;


I know Birdie's going to Heaven--
I heard doctor say he will die;
"But I'll ask God for one of the windows
The pretty star-eyes look out
through,
And when you come up with the angels
I'll sure be the first
to see you.
"And maybe I'll find my dear mamma;
And you'll come up, too,
by-and-by,
And Birdie will watch for you, papa,
And open the gate
of the sky."
The little hand falls from his shoulder
All nerveless, the blue eyes
dilate,
A shuddering sigh, then the baby
Is waiting to open the gate.
WHITE HONEYSUCKLE.
White honeysuckle, "bond of love,"
Emblem born in Orient bowers,

Whence mythic Deities have wooed,
And told the soul's desire in
flowers.
As sweet thy breath as Eden's balm,
As sweet and pure.
Methinks that erst
Thy flower was of our earth a part,
Some angel
hand the seed immersed
In fragrance of the lotus' heart,
And
dropped it from the realm of calm.
And life of earth, and life above,

Thou bindest with they "bond of love."

ESTRANGEMENT.
Only a "something light as air,"
Which never words could tell,
Yet
feel you that between your lives
A cloud has strangely fell;
Though
never a change in look or tone,
A change your heart is grieving;

You sentient feel the friend you love
Has deemed you are deceiving.
A promise rashly given has bound
Your lips the truth to screen,
The
nameless something gathers fast
As mist the hills between;
You
wrap you in your cloak of pride,
The words are never spoken
That
might have thrown the portal wide,
And friendship's tie is broken.

BRING FLOWERS.
Bring flowers, bring flowers, thou Queen of the Spring,
Sweet flowers to garland the earth,
Exotics to bloom in the mansions
of wealth,
Wild flowers for the lowly hearth.
Bring flowers for the brave and
strong-hearted,
Bring flowers for the merry and glad,
Bring flowers
for the weak and despairing,
Bring flowers for the weary and sad.
Bring flowers, bring flowers, thou Queen of the Spring,
Sweet flowers, the dark hours to cheer.
Bring flowers for the little
ones, flowers for the aged,
Bring flowers for the bridal and bier.
In this beautiful, sun-lighted
Springtime,
Bring flowers their fragrance to shed,
To brighten the
homes of the living,
To garnish the graves of the dead.
GOOD-BYE.
Good-bye! Good-bye!
Once pledged we fondly o'er and o'er
That
nought should cloud our love's bright sky;
Once thought we that we
could not stay
Apart and live. But oh! For us
Fate willed it not to
linger thus.
To-day earth's wintry poles apart
Are further not that
we in heart,
Nor colder than our sunless way.
Passion and pride can
do no more,
And you and I can only say
Good-bye! Good-bye!
Good-bye! Good-bye!
So sad it seems the sound of tears,
So sad it
seems life's parting sigh,
And yet, alas! It can but be.
Deserted
ghostly wrecks of dreams
Once freighted with Hope's golden gleams,

Wrecks drifting on a sullen sea,
To mock the memory-haunted

years,
Are all now left to