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Loving eyes that tell their story,
Speaking to my heart of hearts; But I sigh, “A thing of glory
Yet when Mary fades above me,
I must think that there will be One thing more in heaven to love me,
T. B. READ.
LIFE is but a day at most,
Society of Children.
COME the band of children:
What happier recreation than a nursling,
M. F. TUPPER.
YE may search the earth, and the shoreless
deep, For the fairest things in their cells they keep; Ye may gather the light of an eastern mine, And offer it up on affection's shrine; But ye'll never find it cherished there Like a simple with the heart's pure prayer.
Mrs. L. P. SMITH.
The Secret of Mappiness.
WOULDst thou from sorrow find a sweet relief, Or is thy heart oppressed by woes untold ? Balm wouldst thou gather for corroding grief; Pour blessings round thee like a shower of
gold ? "Tis when the rose is wrapped in many a fold Close to its heart, the worm is wasting there Its life and beauty; not when, all unrolled, Leaf after leaf, its bosom, rich and fair, Breathe freely its perfumes through the ambient
air. Rouse to some work of high and holy love, And thou an angel's happiness shall know.
What heart of man unmoved can lie,
The Heart's Guests.
WHEN age has cast its shadows
O’er life's declining way; When evening twilight gathers
Round our retiring day,Then shall we sit and ponder
On the dim and shadowy past In the heart's silent chamber
The guests will gather fast.
Guests that in youth we cherished
Shall come to us once more,
As in the days before.
They may be bright and fair;
The guests will gather there.
How shall it be, my sisters,
Who shall be our hearts' guests ? How shall it be, my brothers,
When life's shadow on us rests?