A CHORUS OF MANY VOICES.

We sing

Of love, whose blessed glow transcends the laws Of time and change and mortal life and death.

TWO LOVERS.

'WO lovers by a moss-grown spring:

Tw

They leaned soft cheeks together there, Mingled the dark and sunny hair,

And heard the wooing thrushes sing.

O budding time!

O love's blest prime !

Two wedded from the portal stept:
The bells made happy carollings,
The air was soft as fanning wings,
White petals on the pathway slept.

O pure-eyed bride!
O tender pride!

Two faces o'er a cradle bent:

Two hands above the head were locked; These pressed each other while they rocked, Those watched a life that love had sent.

O solemn hour!

O hidden power!

Two parents by the evening fire:
The red light fell about their knees
On heads that rose by slow degrees
Like buds upon the lily spire.

O patient life!

O tender strife!

The two still sat together there,

The red light shone about their knees;
But all the heads by slow degrees
Had gone and left that lonely pair.

O voyage fast!

O vanished past!

The red light shone upon the floor

And made the space between them wide : They drew their chairs up side by side, Their pale cheeks joined, and said, "Once more!" O memories!

O past that is!

George Eliot.

PARTING.

THERE'S no use in weeping,

Though we are condemned to part;
There's such a thing as keeping

A remembrance in one's heart.

There's such a thing as dwelling
On the thought ourselves have nursed,
And with scorn and courage telling
The world to do its worst.

We'll not let its follies grieve us,
We'll just take them as they come;

And then every day will leave us
A merry laugh for home.