An' they're honest, an' decent an' happy, an' the very best Christians I know, Though I reckon in brilliant comp'ny they'd be voted a leetle slow. Oh, you're pressed for time-excuse you ? I kept you so long; Sure, I'm sorry Good by. Now he looked kind o' bored like, an' I reckon that I was wrong To tell such a commonplace story of two such commonplace lives, But we can't all git drunk an' gamble an' fight, an' run off with other men's wives. WHAT MY LOVER SAID. HOMER GREENE. By the merest chance, in the twilight gloom, While he took my hand as he whispering said- Oh, the clover in bloom, I love it!) In the high, wet grass went the path to hide, But I could not pass upon either side, And he held me there and he raised my head, And he looked down into my eyes and said— (How the leaves bent down from the boughs o’erhead, To listen to all that my lover said, Oh, the leaves hanging lowly o'er me !) Had he moved aside but a little way, I could surely then have passed him ; It was almost dark, and the moments sped, Oh, the whispering wind around us!) I am sure he knew when he held me fast, For I tried to go, and I would have passed, And the sky with its stars was filling. But he clasped me close when I would have fled, And his soul came out from his lips and said— Oh, the moon and the stars in glory!) I know that the grass and the leaves will not tell, That no being shall ever discover One word of the many that rapidly fell From the soul-speaking lips of my lover; And the moon and the stars that looked over Shall never reveal what a fairy-like spell They wove round about us that night in the dell, TELL ON HIS NATIVE HILLS. KNOWLES. OH, with what pride I used 'Twas free To walk these hills, and look up to my God, How happy was it then! Its very storms. Yes, I have sat I loved In my boat at night, when, midway o'er the lake, On yonder jutting cliff-o'ertaken there And I have thought of other lands, whose storms Have wished me there—the thought that mine was free And cried in thralldom to that furious wind, Blow on!-this is the land of liberty! IF WE KNEW. IF we knew the woe and heartache If we knew the baby fingers, Pressed against the window pane, Would the bright eyes of our darling Ah, those little ice-cold fingers! To the hasty words and actions Strewn along our backward track ! Strange we never prize the music Till the sweet-voiced bird has flown; Strange that we should slight the violets Till the lovely flowers are gone; Strange that summer skies and sunshine Never seem one-half so fair, As when winter's snowy pinions Shake their white down in the air. Lips from which the seal of silence And sweet words that freight our memory With their beautiful perfume, Come to us in sweeter accents Through the portals of the tomb. Let us gather up the sunbeams, GRANNAM AND BLUE EYES. JOHN VANCE CHENEY. "How many days since you were a child?" 46 The blue-eyed boy looked upand smiled Grannam, the days since you were a child ?" "Dear soul, I cannot tell ; Would I had lived them well." "How many months since you were a child ? " He climbed her knee and sweeter smiled"Grannam, the months since you were a child?" "'Twere wiser far for me To count the few to be." "How many years since you were a child?" Blue as the sky his eyes, so mild— Grannam, the years since you were a child? ” "The years are not for me; God give a-many to thee !" 1 |