Lest the cold should do you harm."

"Yes, cold, cold is the night, mother,
Yet soundly do I rest,
With the bleak North wind to cover me,
And the snow white on my breast."


THE PRIEST'S BROTHER: DORA SIGERSON SHORTER

Thrice in the night the priest arose
From broken sleep to kneel and pray.
"Hush, poor ghost, till the red cock crows,
And I a Mass for your soul may say."

Thrice he went to the chamber cold
Where, stiff and still uncoffinéd
His brother lay, his beads he told,
And "Rest, poor spirit, rest," he said.

Thrice lay the old priest down to sleep
Before the morning bell should toll;
But still he heard--and woke to weep--
The crying of his brother's soul.

All through the dark, till dawn was pale,
The priest tossed in his misery,
With muffled ears to hide the wail
The voice of that ghost's agony.