LOVE LIGHTENS LABOR. A GOOD wife rose from her bed one morn, If the stock of our bliss is in stranger hands "There's the meals to get for the men in the vested, The fund, ill secured, oft in bankruptcy ends; But the heart issues bills which are never protested, When drawn on the firm of -- wife, children, and friends. Though valor still glows in his life's dying embers, The death-wounded tar, who his colors defends, Drops a tear of regret as he dying remembers How blessed was his home with wife, children, and friends. The soldier, whose deeds live immortal in story, Whom duty to far distant latitudes sends, With transport would barter whole ages of glory For one happy day with-wife, children, and friends. field, And the children to fix away To school, and the milk to be skimmed and churned; And all to be done this day." It had rained in the night, and all the wood There were puddings and pies to bake, besides And the day was hot, and her aching head "Jennie, what do you think I told Ben Brown?" "It was this," he said, and coming near He smiled, and stooping down, THE WORN WEDDING-RING. Kissed her cheek, "'t was this, that you were YOUR wedding-ring wears thin, dear wife; ah, the best And the dearest wife in town!" summers not a few, Since I put it on your finger first, have passed o'er me and you; The farmer went back to the field, and the wife, And, love, what changes we have seen, In a smiling, absent way, Sang snatches of tender little songs She'd not sung for many a day. And the pain in her head was gone, and the clothes Were white as the foam of the sea; Her bread was light, and her butter was sweet, cares and pleasures, too, - what Since you became my own dear wife, when this old ring was new! O, blessings on that happy day, the happiest of my life, When, thanks to God, your low, sweet "Yes" made you my loving wife! Your heart will say the same, I know; that day's as dear to you, Just think,” the children all called in a breath, That day that made me yours, dear wife, when "Tom Wood has run off to sea! He would n't, I know, if he 'd only had As happy a home as we.' this old ring was new. The night came down, and the good wife smiled How well do I remember now your young sweet To herself, as she softly said: "'T is so sweet to labor for those we love, It's not strange that maids will wed!" ANONYMOUS. O, LAY THY HAND IN MINE, DEAR ! O, LAY thy hand in mine, dear! But Time hath brought no sign, dear, 'T is long, long since our new love But age enricheth true love, And lay thy cheek to mine, dear, Mine arms around thee twine, dear, A many cares are pressing On this dear head; But Sorrow's hands in blessing O, lean thy life on mine, dear! 'T will shelter thee. Thou wert a winsome vine, dear, And so, till boughs are leafless, And songbirds flown, We'll twine, then lay us, griefless, GERALD MASSEY. face that day! How fair you were, how dear you were, my tongue could hardly say ; Nor how I doated on you; O, how proud I was of you! But did I love you more than now, when this old ring was new? No no no fairer were you then than at this hour to me; And, dear as life to me this day, how could you dearer be? As sweet your face might be that day as now it is, 't is true; But did I know your heart as well when this old ring was new? O partner of my gladness, wife, what care, what grief is there For me you would not bravely face, with me you would not share? O, what a weary want had every day, if wanting you, Wanting the love that God made mine when this old ring was new! Years bring fresh links to bind us, wife, — young voices that are here; Young faces round our fire that make their mother's yet more dear; Young loving hearts your care each day makes yet more like to you, More like the loving heart made mine when this old ring was new. FILIAL LOVE. FROM "CHILDE HAROLD.” THERE is a dungeon in whose dim drear light What do I gaze on? Nothing: look again! Two forms are slowly shadowed on my sight, Two insulated phantoms of the brain : It is not so; I see them full and plain,· An old man and a female young and fair, Fresh as a nursing mother, in whose vein The blood is nectar: but what doth she there, With her unmantled neck, and bosom white and bare? Full swells the deep pure fountain of young life, But here youth offers to old age the food, Than Egypt's river; from that gentle side Drink, drink and live, old man! Heaven's realm holds no such tide. COME to me, O my Mother! come to me, Mine were my faults, and mine be their reward, The gift, a fate, or will, that walked astray: And thought of shaking off my bonds of clay : But now I fain would for a time survive, The snow is round thy dwelling, the white snow, If but to see what next can well arrive. |