A shepherd calls his little lambs,
And he longeth to caress them;
He bids them rest upon his breast,
That his tender love may bless them.

So, hush thee, little Dear-my-Soul,
Whilst evening shades are falling,
And above the song of the heavenly throng
Thou shalt hear the Master calling.




JOEL'S TALK WITH SANTA CLAUS


One Christmas eve Joel Baker was in a most unhappy mood. He was
lonesome and miserable; the chimes making merry Christmas music
outside disturbed rather than soothed him, the jingle of the
sleigh-bells fretted him, and the shrill whistling of the wind around
the corners of the house and up and down the chimney seemed to grate
harshly on his ears.

"Humph," said Joel, wearily, "Christmas is nothin' to me; there _was_
a time when it meant a great deal, but that was long ago--fifty years
is a long stretch to look back over. There is nothin' in Christmas
now, nothin' for _me_ at least; it is so long since Santa Claus
remembered me that I venture to say he has forgotten that there ever
was such a person as Joel Baker in all the world. It used to be