'O you love butter? Now wait till I see;

Stand just as still as you ever can be; 

Hold up your head now, and I will begin, 

Holding this buttercup under your chin!

''Ah! It turns yellow; and so it does seem 

You do love butter, as kittens love cream; 

No use in laughing, I know it right well; 

No use denying; the buttercups tell?"

Buttercups glisten as brightly today 

As when in childhood we plucked them in play; 

But the plump fingers are shrunken and old, 

Gray are the locks that were raven and gold.

Short is the time since the graybeards were young,

Hushed by the lullabies dear mother sung; 

Swift have the days of our pilgrimage been, 

Since we held buttercups under the chin.

Charlie is grandpa now, weary and old; 

Gertie is grandmamma, precious as gold;. 

Sweet little Lucy, above her, entombed, 

Forty long years have the buttercups bloomed

Daisies are faded and buttercups fled, 

Little ones, fairer and brighter, are dead; 

Yet while the aged are lingering here, 

Flowers bloom around them, for childhood is near.

Still with their buttercups grandchildren play, 

Still in their gladness they, wander and stray; 

While the old pilgrims, with earth-wearied eyes, 

Look for their city prepared in the skies.

There where the flowers unfading shall bloom, 

There where the loved ones arise from the tomb;

There where the aged their rest shall be given, 

Children, “Of such is the kingdom of Heaven." 


H. L. H., 

in Little Christian.