THE WEDDING RING.
C. NEATE.
I GIVE thee, dear, this little ring,
This plain, this unadorned thing;
Yet well I ween, for love's own sake,
The dearest gift that love can make;
For oh, how much of bliss is bound
Within this small and holy round.
Oh, bond, all earthly bonds above!
It binds our joys together, love;
Henceforth there is no bliss for me
But 'tis reflected back from thee;
And not a smile that cheek shall wear
But kindles up its fellow here.
It binds our woes together too,
Mine will be lighter shared by you;
And oh, if ever grief should dare
That gentle heart to venture near,
The joy, the mournful joy, 'twill be
To sit beside and comfort thee.
Он, take her, but be faithful still,
And may the bridal vow
Be sacred held in after-years,
And warmly breathed as now !
Remember, 'tis no common tie
That binds her youthful heart,
'Tis one that only truth should weave,
And only death can part.
The joys of childhood's happy hour,
This home of riper years,
The treasured scenes of early youth,
In sunshine and in tears;
The purest hopes her bosom knew
When her young heart was free,-
All these, and more, she now resigns,
To brave the world with thee.
Her lot in life is fix'd with thine,
Its good and ill to share;
And well I know 'twill be her pride
To sooth each sorrow there.
Then take her, and may fleeting time
Mark only joys increase;
And may your days glide sweetly on
In happiness and peace.
BRIDE SONG.
From the Swedish.
WHEN the bride with full heart swelling,
Tearful leaves her childhood's dwelling,
Mothers' hearts in prayers are telling,
Faith is needed there.
Who through life will still protect her?
He alone who doth respect her,
Who with truth's pure words hath woo'd her,
We can trust his care.
BONNIE WEE WIFE.
ROBERT BURNS.-Music at May's.
SHE is a winsome wee thing,
She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a bonnie wee thing,
This sweet wee wife o' mine.
I never saw a fairer,
I never lo'ed a dearer,
And neist my heart I'll wear her,
For fear my jewel tine.
She is a winsome wee thing,
She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a bonnie wee thing,
This sweet wee wife o' mine.
The warld's wrack we share it,
The warstle and the care o't:
Wi' her I'd blithely bear it,
And think my lot divine.
HEART-MUSIC.
PRETTY ANNIE LEE.
Он, sweet her smile, the bonnie smile,
So full of life and glee;
Oh, the brightest star that lights our glen
Is pretty Annie Lee.
The blush of morn plays on her cheek
With sunshine soft and fair;
No frown hath ever dimm'd the bloom
That loves to circle there.
I loved her once, I love her still,
She's all the world to me!
Her smiles now light our cottage home,
She's mine, sweet Annie Lee.
And should the gathering shades of time
Steal round us with decay,
I'll heed them not, if they but leave
One smile of hers to play.
THE ANGELS OF THE HOUSE.
'Tis said that ever round our path
The unseen angels stray,
Who give us blissful dreams by night,
And guard our steps by day.
But there's an angel in the house,
Meek, watchful, and sincere,
That whispers words of hope to us
When none beside are near;
It is the one, the chosen one,
That's link'd to us for life,
The angel of the happy home,
The faithful, trusting wife.
'Tis said that angels walk the earth;
I'm sure it must be so,
When round our path, scarce seen by us,
Such bright things come and go.
Are there not beings by our side,
As fair as angels are,
As pure, as stainless, as the forms
That dwell beyond the star?
Yes! there are angels of the earth,
Pure, innocent, and mild,
The angels of our hearts and homes,
Each loved and loving child.
HOUSEHOLD treasures! Household treasures!
Are they jewels rich and rare,
Or gems of rarest workmanship,
Or gold and silver ware?
Ask the mother as she gazes
On her little ones at play:
Household treasures! Household treasures!
Happy children-ye are they.
Household treasures! Household treasures! Are they on the painted walls,
Where o'er the highest works of art
The mellow twilight falls?
Ask the widow as she gazes
On the forms she views once more;
Are they pictures, household treasures ?
'Tis of those we loved of yore!
Household treasures! Household treasures!
How they cling around my heart,
With many a sad but soothing strain
That never can depart!
The dear old clock-the harp unstrung
But most the vacant chair!
Household treasures! Household treasures!
Of our love ye claim a share.
THE clock is on the stroke of six,
The father's work is done;
Sweep up the hearth and mend the fire,
And put the kettle on.
The wild night-wind is blowing cold-
'Tis dreary crossing o'er the wold.
He's crossing o'er the wold apace,
He's stronger than the storm;
He does not feel the cold-not he,
His heart it is so warm.
For father's heart is stout and true,
As ever human bosom knew.
He makes all toil, all hardship light:
Would all men were the same!
So ready to be pleased, so kind,
So very slow to blame!
Folks need not be unkind, austere,
For love hath readier will than fear.
Nay, do not close the shutters, child,
For far along the lane
The little window looks, and he
Can see it shining plain.
I've heard him say he loves to mark
The cheerful firelight through the dark.
And we'll do all that father likes;
His wishes are so few-
Would they were more !-that every hour
Some wish of his I knew!
I'm sure it makes a happy day
When I can please him any way.
I know he's coming by this sign,
That baby's almost wild;
See how he laughs, and crows, and stares!
Heaven bless the merry child!
He's father's self in face and limb,
And father's heart is strong in him.
|