When but an idle boy

I sought its grateful shade;
In all their gushing joy

Here too my sisters played.
My mother kissed me here;

My father pressed my hand
Forgive this foolish tear,

But let that old oak stand!

My heart-strings round thee cling,
Close as thy bark, old friend!

Here shall the wild-bird sing,

And still thy branches bend.
Old tree! the storm still brave!
And, woodman, leave the spot;
While I've a hand to save,
Thy axe shall harm it not.

NEAR THE LAKE

BY GEORGE P. MORRIS

Near the lake where drooped the willow,

Long time ago!

Where the rock threw back the billow,

Brighter than snow

Dwelt a maid, beloved and cherished

By high and low;

But with autumn's leaf she perished,
Long time ago!

Rock and tree and flowing water,
Long time ago!-

Bee and bird and blossom taught her
Love's spell to know!

While to my fond words she listened,

Murmuring low,

Tenderly her dove-eyes glistened,
Long time ago!

Mingled were our hearts for ever,
Long time ago!

Can I now forget her? - Never!
No-lost one - no!

To her grave these tears are given,
Ever to flow:

She's the star I missed from heaven,
Long time ago!

THE LAND O' THE LEAL

BY CAROLINA, BARONESS NAIRNE

I'm wearing awa', Jean,

Like snaw when it's thaw, Jean;
I'm wearing awa'

To the land o' the leal.

There's nae sorrow there, Jean, There's neither cauld nor care, Jean,

The day is aye fair

In the land o' the leal.

Ye were aye leal and true, Jean;
Your task's ended noo, Jean,
And I'll welcome you

To the land o' the leal.
Our bonnie bairn's there, Jean,

She was baith guid and fair, Jean:
O, we grudged her right sair
To the land o' the leal!

Then dry that tearfu' e'e, Jean,
My soul langs to be free, Jean,
And angels wait on me

To the land o' the leal!

Now fare ye weel, my ain Jean,
This warld's care is vain, Jean;
We'll meet and aye be fain

In the land o' the leal.

BINGEN ON THE RHINE

BY MRS. CAROLINE E. S. NORTON

A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers,

There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears;

But a comrade stood beside him, while his lifeblood

ebbed away,

And bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he might

say.

The dying soldier faltered, and he took that comrade's

hand,

Oh! take the lesson to thy soul, forever clasp it fast, The mill will never grind again with water that is

past."

Work on while yet the sun doth shine, thou man of strength and will,

The streamlet ne'er doth useless glide by clicking water-mill;

Nor wait until to-morrow's light, beams brightly on

thy way,

For all that thou can'st call thine own, lies in the phrase to-day.

Possessions, power, and blooming health must all be lost at last,

"The mill will never grind again with water that is past."

Oh! love thy God and fellow men, thyself consider last, For come it will when thou must scan dark errors of

the past.

Soon will this fight of life be o'er, and earth recede from view,

And Heaven in all its glory shine, where all is

true.

pure and

Ah! then thou'lt see more clearly still, the proverb

deep and vast,

"The mill will never grind again with water that is

past."

Tempered the heap with thrill of human tears;
Then mixed a laughter with the serious stuff.
Into the shape she breathed a flame to light
That tender, tragic, ever-changing face.
Here was a man to hold against the world,
A man to match the mountains and the sea.

The color of the ground was in him, the red earth; The smack and tang of elemental things:

The rectitude and patience of the cliff;

The good-will of the rain that loves all leaves;
The friendly welcome of the wayside well;
The courage of the bird that dares the sea;
The gladness of the wind that shakes the corn;
The mercy of the snow that hides all scars;
The secrecy of streams that make their way
Beneath the mountain to the rifted rock;
The undelaying justice of the light
That gives as freely to the shrinking flower
As to the great oak flaring to the wind-
To the grave's low hill as to the Matterhorn
That shoulders out the sky.

Sprung from the West,

The strength of virgin forests braced his mind,
The hush of spacious prairies stilled his soul.
Up from log cabin to the Capitol,

One fire was on his spirit, one resolve-
To send the keen axe to the root of wrong,
Clearing a free way for the feet of God.
And evermore he burned to do his deed