File:The century illustrated monthly magazine (1882) (14782087672).jpg

Identifier: centuryillustratv43n2newy (find matches)
Title: The century illustrated monthly magazine
Year: 1882 (1880s)
Authors:
Subjects: American literature
Publisher: New York : Century Co.
Contributing Library: Lincoln Financial Foundation Collection
Digitizing Sponsor: The Institute of Museum and Library Services through an Indiana State Library LSTA Grant

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im ;and the wicked and antique wisdom which hadoverspread it as a mask came back only inflashes now and then. The stunted body andsunny soul might know a little comfort at last.Life was sweet to Wulfy now. Yet not all sweet. Still there was sorrow;still, disappointment, and desire unfulfilled.For Milly was not at home. I goes to see her, said Wulfy. But Idont tell her about the new mother. I tellher its jist another friend of my father; for ifshe knew it was a new mother, Milly d wantter come home. An they say she cant comehome — yet. Vida D. Scudder. AN OFFERTORY. 0 H, the beauty of the Christ-child,The gentleness, the grace,The smiling, loving tenderness,The infantile embrace!All babyhood he holdeth,All motherhood enfoldeth,—Yet who hath seen his face ? Oh, the nearness of the Christ-child, When, for a sacred space, He nestles in our very homes,— Light of the human race ! We know him and we love him,No man to us need prove him,— Yet who hath seen his face ? Mary Mapes Dodge.
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ENGRAVED BY M. HAIDER. MADONNA. BY DAGNAN-BOUVERET. Vol. XLIIL—36. ::._:__. THE SONG OF THE BROOK. (to leonie cinq-mars.) OH, listen! hush!As lightening down its path among the grasses,Neath brier and spreading bushHidden, and fleetOn silvery feet,The swift brook passes. Unseen, but heard — Heard with rapt heart, and brain, and eyes that listen; Oh, the clear, wild refrain; The sighs; the rippled laughter; The songs which have no word That poets happiest rime can follow after Nor truest harp intone ; The low,sweet,stammering talk against the pebbles That wait to catch And break its deeper sound in quivering trebles; The silence, sudden, strange, that seems to snatch All this glad music to its deep, still heart, Just for a breath, apart! Oh, listen ! hark ! The woodland voices here imprisoned, blended; The sway of leaves; the singing tone and splendid Of mounting lark; The timid, coaxing chirp that warns the nestling; The cleft branch, crashing through the startled air; The ceasele

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