' Mamma, tell me 'bout Good Friday,'
Lisped the prattler at my knee,
With his sparkling eyes uplifted,
Laughing in his roguish glee.

'Is't a pretty story, mamma?
Won't you tell it right away?
Take me up, I want to hear it,
Then I'll run along and play.'

But I could not tell the story
As the solemn dirges fell,
Tolling through the day that darkened
With.. the crucifixion knell,—

Could not tell him how Redemption
By a boundless love was won,
And a grand Atonement proffered
Through a well-beloved Son !

So I said, with arms around him,
' Yes, 'tis good, for you must know
That a little blue-eyed baby
Came to me four years ago.

'Just four years to-day, my darling,
Since you oped your wondering eyes,
'Mid the solemn hush that Nature
Keeps for our great Sacrifice.

' Oh, the memories that clustered
As that hallowed day wore on !
Little heads my breast had pillowed, -
Little dimpled arms had gone.

' Little feet, that ran to meet me,
Lying still and white and cold ;
Little eyes, that watched my coming,
Hid beneath the church-yard mold !

'Then when vesper-hymns outfloating
Told the day was well-nigh spent,
'Only Son,' the singers chanted,
And my heart'responded, Lent,

' Was it but the distant shadow
Of His sufferings —of His Cross—
Made me fold my baby closer,
Shuddering at my fancied loss ?

' Who can tell? The Father knoweth :
Lent, not given, are all that come;
When 'tis best that they should leave us,
He will gently call them home.

' But, my pet, you have not listened !
Mamma's boy is off at play !
Thread of sunlight, gleaming, flashing,
Through this sacred, Hallowed Day.'