The age-herald., 1900-11-11

and strengthening, making us stronger and better women and men, and worthier of the trust of little children; worthier of the faith of innocence.
 More ennoblng and infinitely more pre- cious is the treasure of one little child's trust and love than the most glorious dia- dem that ever bespoke an emperor's great ness; more thrilling and more to be sought is one trembling little hand placed in yours in perfect trust than the acclaim of the million-headed monster thing we call pop ular approval of the passing hour of lying politics never at rest!
 Give to this wayfarer, weary of many empty things of the world, the faith of his beloved, and let who may have the hoarse shouts from the brass-throated multitude of strife-stirred lands.
 Airy, fairy Lillian,
 Fitting, fairy Lillian,
 When I ask her if she love me, Claps her tiny hands above me,
 Laughing all she can;
 She'll not tell me if she love me,
 Cruel little Lillian.
 When my passion seeks
 Pleasance in love-sighs,
 She, looking thro' and thro' me Thoroughly to do undo me,
 Smiling, never speaks.
 So innocent-arch so cunning simple, From beneath her gather'd wimple,
 Glancing with black-beaded eyes, Till the lightning daughters dimple
 The baby-roses in her cheeks
 Then away she flies
 An, well! she isn't mine save in the abun- dance of a love that can have in it noth ing of self, and can bring no reward but her smiles, her faith, her innocent confi- dence; and if it were not so the angels would not smile upon it, and out of 1t could come no honest hope or real goodness; 1t being forbidden of the Most High and of all human experience that good shall come of love that comes of self
 And so this is to the adoration of the little saint! This morning Is the young anniversary of her coming into the world weeping whilst all around her smiled. May she so live that she shall leave the world smiling whilst all around her weep! She is very young-just tiny little saint, tod ding her way across the border-bed where thrice the violets have blossomed, kissed to purple by the breeze of the May times she has blessed; only @ half-demure, half-saucy little thing, with glistering in her hair, the sky in her eyes, and the light of the angels in the little heart that has known no aching. Upon her royal little head there is a crown of fine-spun gold dulled as if by the hearts of roses in her wondrously fair little face. Waking or asleep, she is joyous in an atmosphere of adoration; and she romps through loves that are holy. She is a jolly lit tie creature when she wills, and that is always; and she Is nt- tie despot of human hearts. When she laughs you hold your breath for fear you may lose one sweet note of tenderness in the divinest music ever give1 to earth to hear, the ripping, rolling, swinging, mirth- full and glorious laughter of that little child. Hear that once, and all other notes of melody in this world are discord all and powerless to reach the deeper depths of the human heart. Hear that little chld's little laughter, and you feel that you are drawn very closely to the heart of heavens own melody and then if you havs not impulse to prayer for little children, for guidance of little children, you may pass on as one against whom are triple barred the love-locked gates of hope!
 So beautiful, so radiant, so joyous, so pure is that toddling little tot, stumbling her blessed way into true hearts, that she were enough in her own little mite of an angelic frame to redeem the world from