And o'er them many a flowing range

Of vapor buoyed the crescent bark,
And, rapt through many a rosy change,
The twilight died into the dark.

"A hundred summers! can it be?

And whither goest thou, tell me where?”
"Oh, seek my father's court with me,

For there are greater wonders there."
And o'er the hills, and far away

Beyond their utmost purple rim,

I fashion, to myself, the tenderness

Of my glad welcome: I shall tremble

And touch her as when first in the old days

I touched her girlish hand, nor dared upraise

Mine eyes, such was my faint heart's sweet distress. Then silence, and the perfume of her dress:

The room will sway a little, and a haze

Cloy eyesight-soul-sight, even for a space :

And tears, - yes; and the ache here in the throat, To know that I so ill deserve the place

Her arms made for me; and the sobbing note

UNKIND WORDS.

I stay with kisses, ere the tearful face
Again is hidden in the old embrace.

125

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY.

TWO TRUTHS.

"DARLING," he said, “I never meant

To hurt you; " and his eyes were wet.

"I would not hurt you for the world: Am I to blame if I forget?"

"Forgive my selfish tears!" she cried,

66

Forgive! I knew that it was not Because you meant to hurt me, sweet, I knew it was that you forgot."

But all the same, deep in her heart
Rankled this thought, and rankles yet, —

"When love is at its best, one loves

So much that he cannot forget."

UNKIND WORDS.

H. H. JACKSON.

F I had known in the morning

IF

How wearily all the day

The words unkind

Would trouble your mind

That I said when you went away,
I had been more careful, darling,

Nor given you needless pain;
But we vex our own

With look and tone,

We might never take back again.

For though in the quiet evening
You give me a kiss of peace,
Yet it well might be

That never for me

The pain of the heart should cease !
How many go forth in the morning
Who never come home at night!
And hearts have been broken
For harsh words spoken,
That sorrow can ne'er set right.

We have careful thought for the stranger,
And smiles for the sometime guest;
But oft for our own

The bitter tone,

Though we love our own the best.

Ah, lips with the curve impatient ! Ah, brow with the shade of scorn! 'T were a cruel fate

Were the night too late To undo the work of morn.

ANON.

SUN AND RAIN.

127

SUN AND RAIN.

A YOUNG wife stood at the lattice-pane,

In a study sad and “brown," Watching the dreary ceaseless rain Steadily pouring down:

Drip, drip, drip!

It kept on its tireless play;

And the poor little woman sighed, “Ah me!
What a wretched, weary day!"

An eager hand at the door,
A step as of one in haste,

A kiss on her lips once more,

And an arm around her waist:

Throb, throb, throb!

Went her little heart grateful and gay,

As she thought, with a smile, "Well after all,
It is n't so dull a day!"

Forgot was the plashing rain

And the lowering skies above,

For the sombre room was lighted again

By the blessed sun of love:

"Love, love, love!"

Ran the little wife's murmured lay;

"Without, it may threaten and frown if it will; Within what a golden day!”

ANON.

HOME SONG.

STAY, stay at home, my heart and rest;

Home-keeping hearts are happiest,

For those that wander they know not where
Are full of trouble and full of care:

To stay at home is best.

Weary and homesick and distressed,
They wander east, they wander west,

And are baffled and beaten and blown about
By the winds of the wilderness of doubt:
To stay at home is best.

Then stay at home, my heart, and rest;
The bird is safest in its nest;

O'er all that flutter their wings and fly

A hawk is hovering in the sky:

To stay at home is best.

ANON.

THE OLDEST STORY.

UNDER the coverlet's

fold

snowy
The tiniest stir that ever was seen,

And the tiniest sound, as if fairy folk

Were cuddling under a leaf, I ween.