" Do you think of the friends that are gone, Jeannie, sit by the fire at night?

As

you

Do you wish they were round you again once more, By the hearth that they made so bright?"

"I think of the friends that are gone, Robin;
They are dear to my heart as then;

But the best and the dearest among them all
I have never wished back again."

"WE have lived and loved together,
Through many changing years;
We have shared each other's gladness,
We have wept each other's tears.

"I have never known a sorrow

That was long unsoothed by thee;
For thy smile can make a summer,
Where darkness else would be.

"And let us hope the future

As the past has been, will be;
I will share with thee thy sorrows,

And thou thy smiles with me."

ANONYMOUS.

GOOD old age is a beautiful sight, and there is nothing earthly that is as noble,

- in my eyes, at least. And so I have often thought. A ship is a fine object, when it comes up into a port, with all its sails set, and quite safely, from a long voyage. Many a thousand miles it has come, with the sun for guidance, and the sea for its path, and the winds for its speed. What might have been its grave, a thousand fathoms deep, has yielded it a ready way; and winds that might have been its wreck have been its service. It has come from another meridian than ours; it has come through day and night; it has come by reefs and banks that have been avoided, and past rocks that have been watched for. Not a plank has started, nor one timber in it proved rotten. And now it comes like an answer to the prayers of many hearts; a delight to the owner, a joy to many a sailor's family, and a pleasure to all ashore, that see it.

It has been steered over the ocean, and been piloted through dangers, and now it is safe.

But still more interesting than this is a good life, as it approaches its threescore years and ten. It began in the century before the present; it has lasted on through storms and sunshine; and it has been guarded against many a rock, on which shipwreck of a good conscience might have been made. On the course it has taken, there has been the influence of Providence; and it has been guided by Christ, that day-star from on high. Yes, old age is even a nobler sight than a ship completing a long, long voyage.

On a summer's evening, the setting sun is grand to look at. In his morning beams, the birds awoke and sang, men rose for their work, and the world grew light. In his mid-day heat, wheat-fields grew yellower, and fruits were ripened, and a thousand natural purposes were answered, which we mortals do not know of. And at his setting, all things seem to grow harmonious and solemn in his light.

But what is all this to the sight of a good life, in those years that go down into the grave? In the early days of it, old events had their happening; with the light of it many a house has been prightened; and under the good influence of it, souls have grown better, some of whom are now on high. And then the closing period of such a life, how almost awful is the beauty of it! From his setting, the sun will rise again to-morrow; and he will shine on men and their work, and on chil

dren's children and their labors.

But when once

finished, even a good life has no renewal in this

world. It will begin again; but it will be in a new earth, and under new heavens. Yes, nobler than a ship safely ending a long voyage, and sublimer than the setting

A GOOD old man is the best antiquity; one whom time hath been thus long a working, and, like winter fruit, ripened when others are shaken down. He looks over his former life as a danger well past, and would not hazard himself to begin again. The next door of death saps him not, but he expects it calmly, as his turn in nature. All men look on him as a common father, and on old age, for his sake, as a reverent thing. He practises his experience on youth, without harshiness or reproof, and in his council is good company. You must pardon him if he likes his own times better than these, because those things are follies to him now, that were wisdom then; yet he makes us of that opinion, too, when we see him, and conjecture those times by so good a relic. — BISHOP EARLE.

-

The west winds blow, and, singing low,

I hear the glad streams run;
The windows of my soul I throw

Wide open to the sun.

No longer forward nor behind

I look in hope or fear;
But, grateful, take the good I find,

The best of now and here.

I plough no more a desert land,
To harvest weed and tare;
The manna dropping from God's hand
Rebukes my painful care.

I break my pilgrim staff, I lay
Aside the toiling oar;

The angel sought so far away,

I welcome at my door.