THE BROTHER'S PROMISE.

Waikato Times, Volume XXVI, Issue 2125, 20 February 1886, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE BROTHER'S PROMISE.

In a dark and dreary garret, O'er a dirty London slum, Where the blessed light of heaven And the sunshine seldom come, All amidst this want and wqualor — This abode of sin and careLay a little city arab Breathing out his small life thereAll alone save one —his sister — Younger still than he, who tried All in vain to drive the anguish From his aching back and side. Still she bent o'er him, caressing, And the while, in accents mild, With a faint and feeble utterance, Slowly spoke the dying child : " I am dying, sister Nellie, And when I am cold and dead, I shall be at rest in heaven, As tho clergyman has paid. But you'll come some day, my sister— There is room for me and you; It would not be heaven, Nellie, If you did not come there too. 44 And if father comes to-morrow, When he sees me lying dead, He'll know, then, that I'm not shamming, As you know he always said, Don't you be afraid he'll beat you When be comes to-morrow morn; I feel sure he will be kinder, Nell, he looks so dull and worn. " We have been good friends, my sister, In our short life's pain and woe, Though we've braved it both together, You must stay while I must go. I am not afraid of dying To be freed from all this pain, But I wish for your sake, Nellie, I was well and strong again. " Don't cry so, my darling sister; Though I'm going far away, I shall bj a shining angel In a land of endless day; Amd I'll always watch you, Nellie, From my place in heaven above— I will ask dear God to let me, And I know He is all love. " So, wheu I am up in heaven, In that place so fail to see, I will look down, dear, upon you, Though I know you won't see me ; And when all iv hushed and silent, And the stars gleam in the sky, You will know I'm looking, Nellie, And be glad and will not cry. • # # * In a damp and dismal grave-yaid, Where the bones of paupers lie, Midst a crowd of gaping idlers, Passed a little funeral by. But tho only one who sorrowed, Only mourner of them all, Was a little ragged maiden, Sobbing o'er a coffin small.

—The Quiver.