My Tlaby.For thy dear sake, my little one,1 stifle many a bitter sigh, or thy swe^t life ount it fainMy cherished wishes to deny.Oh sacred trust, my baby fair,How can 1 count thy worth to me; Salvation for my erring soul In thy dear eyes I dally sstKDear little arms that cling and twin# Around thy mother’s lonely heart;Dear little hands laid in my own,Clod grant that we may never parkSweet little voice, and broken words More eloquent than songs of love,A spell is in thy lowest tones,That lifts me into realms above.—Annie Russell, in N. Y. Ledger.