To-day-while hearts with rapture spring,
The youth to beauty's lip may cling:
To-morrow-and that lip of bliss
May sleep unconscious of his kiss.

To-day-the blooming spouse may press
Her husband in a fond caress :
To-morrow and the hands that press'd
May wildly strike her widow'd breast.

To-day-the clasping babe may drain
The milk-stream from its mother's vein;
To-morrow-like a frozen rill
That bosom current may be still.

To-day-the merry heart may feast
On herb and fruit, and bird and beast:
To-morrow-spite of all thy glee,
The hungry worms may feed on thee.

To-morrow! Mortal, boast not thou
Of time and tide that are not now!
But think, in one revolving day
That e'en thyself may pass away.

WILLIAM KNOX, 1789-1825.

-Harp of Zion.

THE BRIDGE.

I STOOD On the bridge at midnight,
As the clocks were striking the hour,
And the moon rose o'er the city,
Behind the old church tower.

I saw her bright reflection

In the waters under me, Like a golden goblet falling And sinking into the sea.

And far in the hazy distance
Of that lovely night in June,
The blaze of the flaming furnace
Gleam'd redder than the moon.

Among the long, black rafters
The wavering shadows lay,

And the current that came from the ocean
Seem'd to lift and bear them away;

As sweeping and eddying through them
Rose the belated tide,

And streaming into the moonlight

The seaweed floated wide.

And like those waters rushing
Among the wooden piers,

A flood of thought came o'er me
That fill'd my eyes with tears.

How often, oh, how often,

In the days that had gone by, I had stood on that bridge at midnight And gazed on that wave and sky!

How often, oh, how often,

I had wish'd that the ebbing tide Would bear me away on its bosom O'er the ocean wild and wide!

For my heart was hot and restless,
And my life was full of care,
And the burden laid upon me '
Seem'd greater than I could bear.

But now it has fallen from me,
It is buried in the sea,
And only the sorrow of others
Throws its shadow over me.

Yet whenever I cross the river

On its bridge with wooden piers, Like the odour of brine from the ocean, Comes the thought of other years.

And I think how many thousands

Of care-encumber'd men,

Each bearing his burden of sorrow,

Have cross'd the bridge since then.

I see the long procession

Still passing to and fro;

The young heart, hot and restless,
And the old, subdued and slow.

And for ever, and for ever,

As long as the river flows,

As long as the heart has passions,
As long as life has woes;

The moon, and its broken reflection,
And its shadows, shall appear

As the symbol of love in heaven,
And its wavering image here.

-American.

H. W. LONGFELLOW, 1807—

WHEEL SONG.

JUST as we spin, of old 'tis said

Queen Bertha used to twine the thread...I spin.
And with our wheels and merry song

Winter's dark hours flow blithely on.

We spin, my girl and I.

When my neighbour comes at night
With her niece-around the light...I spin.
Round the blazing fire we gather,
And we sing and spin together.
We spin, my girl and I.

While I twist the whistling thread

The daily task is quickly said...I spin.
And then my little happy boy

Frisks round my wheel in careless joy.
We spin, my girl and I.

We may gossip as we spin,

But to backbite is a sin...I spin.

They who slander soon shall find

Coarse and rough the thread they wind.
We spin, my girl and I.

Twist it neither slack nor tight.

Keep between and 'twill be right...I spin.

Girls who think of lovers, go

Always over fast or slow.

We spin, my girl and I.

Oil your wheel, that turning round
It may make no creaking sound...I spin.
Oil of patience is the oil!

Sweetener that of every toil!

We spin, my girl and I.

Maid whose wheel turns gratingly
Day and night shall lonely be...I spin.