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We are Growing old.
When a glance is backward cast
In the silence of the past :
Or the tomb of early tears ;
In the stormy sea of years.
Our steps from its greenness now, And we miss the joy of many a heart,
And the light of many a brow; For deep o'er many a stately bark
Have the whelming billows rolled That steered with us from that early mark,Oh, friends! we are growing old !
The Two Oceans.
Two seas amid the night,
In the moonshine roll and sparkle, Now spread in the silver light,
Now sadden, and wail, and darkle.
The one has a billowy motion,
And from land to land it gleams ; The other is sleep's wide ocean,
And its glimmering waves are dreams.
Bears fleets round coast and islet;
THERE is a secret sympathy in love;
How silently yon streamlet slides
From out the twilight-shaded bowers ! How, soft as sleep, it onward glides
In sunshine through its dreaming flowers !
That tranquil wave, now turned to gold
Beneath the slowly westering sun, It is the same, back on the wold,
Whose foam this morn we gazed upon!
The leaden sky—the barren waste
The torrent we this morning knew, How changed are all !-as now we haste
To bid them, with the day, adieu!
Ah thus, should Life and Love at last
Grow bright and sweet when Death is near; May we, our course of trial passed, Thus bathed in beauty, pass from here.
C. F. HOFFMAN.
Lines to a Lady.
MAIDEN! with the fair brown tresses
Shading o'er thy dreamy eye, Floating on thy thoughtful forehead
Cloud wreaths of its sky. Youthful years and maiden beauty,
Joy with them should still abide Instinct take the place of duty
Love, not Reason, guide. Ever in the New 'rejoicing,
Kindly beckoning back the Old,
All things into gold.
Wearing even a welcome guise,
To the sunny skies ;Every wing of bird above it,
Every light cloud floating on, Glitters like that flashing mirror In the self-same sun.
SUNNY and golden be
The lot in store for thee; Peace smile upon thy path where'er thou goest;
Health freshen on thy cheek
Its vermil to bespeak How full and rich to thee each joy thou
Blest, sister, be thy love
Blest here, and blest above!
But deep, and pure, and true,
Yield pleasures young and new, To glad thy breast, like angel's, free from stain.
Thine, sister, be for aye,
That hope which springs on high ; Thine be the task to guard its sacred light,
With vestal's holy care;
Thy faith, this duty rare, Wilt prove,-and, proving, turn to day all night.
J. S. JENKINS.