And sometimes in an idle mood

We loitered by the way;

And stopped in the woods to gather flowers,
And in the fields to play;

Till warned by the deep'ning shadows' fall
That told of the coming night,

We climbed to the top of the last long hill,
And saw our home in sight?

And, brothers and sisters, older now,
Than she whose life is o'er,

Do you think of the mother's loving face,
That looked from the open door?

Alas, for the changing things of time,
That home in the dust is low;
And that loving smile was hid from us,
In the darkness, long ago!

And we have come to life's last hill,
From which our weary eyes

Can almost look on that home that shines
Eternal in the skies.

So, brothers and sisters, as we go,

Still let us move as one,

Always together keeping step,

Till the march of life is done;

For that mother, who waited for us here,

Wearing a smile so sweet,

Now waits on the hills of Paradise

For her children's coming feet.

Alice Cary.

I

THE PLEASURE VOYAGE.

WISH I could as merry be

As when I set out this world to see; Like a boat filled with good companie,

On some gay voyage sent.

There Youth spread forth the broad, white sail, Sure of fair weather and full gale,

Confiding life would never fail,

Nor time be ever spent.

And Fancy whistled for the wind,
And if ever Memory looked behind,
'Twas but some friendly sight to find,
And gladsome wave her hand.

And Hope kept whispering in Youth's ear,
To spread more sail and never fear,
For the same sky would still be clear
Until they reached the land.

Health, too, and Strength, tugged at the oar, Mirth mocked the passing billow's roar,

And Joy, with goblet running o'er,

Drank draughts of deep delight;

And Judgment at the helm they set-
But Judgment was a child as yet,
And lack-a-day! was all unfit

To guide the boat aright.

Bubbles did half her thoughts employ;
Hope she believed; she played with Joy,
And Fancy bribed her with a toy

To steer which way he chose;

But still they were a merry crew,
And laughed at dangers as untrue,
Till the dim sky tempestuous grew,

And sobbing south winds rose.

Then Prudence told them all she feared,
And Youth awhile his messmates cheered,
Until at length he disappeared,

Though none knew how he went.
Joy hung his head, and Mirth grew dull,
Health faltered, Strength refused to pull,
And Memory, with her soft eyes full,
Backward her glance still bent—

To where upon the distant sea,
Bursting the storm's dark canopy,

Light from the sun none now could see,
Still touched the whirling wave.

And though Hope, gazing from the brow,
Turns oft-she sees the shore-to vow,
Judgment, grown older now, I trow,
Is silent, stern, and grave.

And though she steers with better skill,
And makes her fellows do her will,

Fear says, the storm is rising still,
And day is almost spent.

Oh! that I could as merry be

As when I set out this world to see;
Like a boat filled with good companie,
On some gay voyage bent.

G. P. R. James.

No wise man ever wished to be younger.

Dean Swift.

A PETITION TO TIME.

TOUCH us gently, Time!

Let us glide adown thy stream
Gently, as we sometimes glide,
Through a quiet dream!

Humble voyagers are we,

Husband, wife, and children three;

(One is lost-an angel fled

To the azure overheard.)

Touch us gently, Time!

We've not proud nor soaring wings;
Our ambition, our content,

Lies in simple things.

Humble voyagers are we,
O'er life's dim unsounded sea,

Seeking only some calm clime;

Touch us gently, gentle Time!

Bryan Walter Proctor.

THE GOOD OLD FRIEND.

MY good old friend, "he tirled at the pin,”

He opened the door and entered in;

We were all glad to see his face,

As he took at the fire his 'customed place,
And the little children, loud in glee,
They welcomed him as they welcomed me.
He knew our griefs, our joys he shared;
There cannot be friend with him compared-

I and my friend, we were bred together.
He had a smile like the summer weather,
A kind, warm heart, and a hand as free:
My friend, he was all the world to me!

Mary Howitt.

"IT'S hard we canna just remain young a' the days we have to bide below, there's no sae mony o' them. I never

could see the use of growing auld."

WE live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths;

In feelings, not in figures on a dial;

We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives
Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.

Bailey's Festus.

THE ONE GRAY HAIR.

HE wisest of the wise

THE

Listen to pretty lies,

And love to hear them told;

Doubt not that Solomon

Listened to many a one

Some in his youth, and more when he grew old.

I never sat among

The choir of Wisdom's song,

But pretty lies loved I

As much as any king

When youth was on the wing,

And (must it then be told?) when youth had quite gone by.

M *