SPRING FLOWERS

GATHERED FOR

Young Florists.

THE OLD FRIEND AND THE NEW.

My old friend he was a good old friend,
And I thought, like a fool, his face to mend;
I got another; but Ah! to my cost,
I found him unlike the one I had lost!
I and my friend, we were bred together-
He had a simile like the summer weather,
A kind warm heart, and a hand as free;
My friend, he was all the world to me!

I could sit with him and crack many a joke,
And talk of old times and the village folk;
He had been with us at the Christmas-time;
He knew every tree we used to climb;
And where we played, and what befel,
My dear old friend remembered well.
It did me good but to see his face;
And I've put another friend in his place!

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OLD FRIEND AND NEW.

I wonder how such a thing could be, For my old friend would not have blighted me!

Oh, my fine new friend, he is smooth and
bland,

With a jewell'd ring or two on his hand;
He visits my lord and my lady fair,
He hums the last new opera air.

He takes not the children on his knee!
faithful hound reproacheth me,

My
For he snarls when my new friend draweth

near,

But my good old friend to the brute was dear;

I wonder how I such a thing could do,

As change the old friend for the new!

My good old friend, "he tirled at the pin,"
He opened the door and entered in!
We all were 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.
We had tried him long and found him true!
Why changed I the old friend for the new?

BLIND AND LAME.

My new friend cometh in lordly state;
He peals a startling ring at the gate;
There's hurry and pomp, there's pride and
din,

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And my new friend bravely entereth in.
I bring out the noblest wines for cheer,
I make him a feast that costeth dear,
But he knows not what in my heart lies deep;
He may laugh with me, but shall never

weep,

For there is no bond between us twain;
And I sigh for my dear old friend again
And thus, too late, I bitterly rue

That I changed the old friend for the new!

Mary Howitt.

THE BLIND AND LAME.

"How warm the sun!" cries blind old John "How bright it shines!" says poor lame

Will;

How pleasant, neighbour, to have gone
On such a day to Greenwich Hill!

The Easter folk are crowding there,
'Tis hard that we must prisoners be,

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BLIND AND LAME.

"Ay, true" sighs John, "I liked the fair,
When Betty lived, and I could see."

But she is dead, and I am blind,
And thou, old comrade, art as bad;
So we must sit, with mournful mind,
And dream the joys that we once had.

"Not so," says Will, "we two as one

Will see the fun and climb the hill." "I'll be to you as feet!" cries John, "And I to you as eyes!" quoth Will.

Away they trudge-no happier pair

The hill they reach, with friendly chat, And while Will's eyes roam o'er the fair, Well pleased, John hears of this and that.

On

sunny bank with daises spread,

Now rests the lame, the blind stands by; Strong as a tree, with high raised head, And eyelids twinkling merrily.

Poor souls! to see them kindly smile,
And hear them talk 'twas worth a pound!
How meekly they their griefs beguile;
What wise conclusions they have found!

MY MOTHER'S SENTIMENTS.

"Thus all the blind, and all the lame, ("That's all the world," suggested Will,) "Should just," said John, "go do the same And learn of us to climb the hill."

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Mary Burnett.

MY MOTHER'S SENTIMENTS.

A little stream that's never dry,

When summer suns are glowing;
That when the wintry storm sweeps by,
Is never overflowing:

Such is the wealth that I implore,
And God has given me this and more.

Daughters more excellent than fair;
A son, not great, but good;
Servants, with whom I've learned to bear
Whatever be their mood:

In peace with these, in love with those,
I calmly live and have no foes.

A house for comfort, not too small,
Not large enough for pride;

A garden, and a garden wall-
A little lake beside ;