He lay upon some scattered straw,--
His strength was almost gone,--
And, in a feeble voice, he cried,
"Give me three grains of corn!"
Three grains from out his jacket torn,
His trembling mother drew,
'Twas all she had--she gave them him,
Though she was starving too!
Be very grateful, children, then,
For all that you enjoy;
Remembering, as you say those words,
The little Irish boy.
[Illustration]
WILLIE IN HEAVEN:
[Illustration: Letter T.]
"They tell me in a sunny land
Our Willie is at play;
And with him is a happy band
Of children, good and gay.
"They say their shining robes of white
Are free from spot or stain;
That there, where it is never night,
They feel no grief or pain.
"But Willie shunned the stranger's face,
When he was with us here;
And in that new, though lovely place,
He will be sad, I fear.
"He'll miss me,--though the fields are fair,
His bright eyes will grow dim;
He has no little sister there;
O let me go to him!"
"Our Willie is not sad, my child;
For in that heavenly home
There dwells the blessed Saviour mild,
Who bids the children come.
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