Who will may choose to wander far over sea and land.

For me the table and the lamp extend a friendlier hand,

And I am blessed beyond compare while with benignant looks

From home's familiar shelves they smile-my pleasant world of books.

Why?

But why do I keep Thanksgiving,
Did I hear you aright, my dear?
Why? When I'm all alone in life,
Not a chick nor a child to be near,
John's folks all away in the West,
Lucy across the sea,

And not a soul in the dear old home
Save a little bound girl and me.

It does look lonesome, I grant it;
Yet, strange as the thing may sound,
I'm seldom in want of company

The whole of the merry year round-
There's spring when the lilac blossoms,
And the apple trees blush to bloom,
There's summer when great moths flit and glance
Through the twilight's starlit gloom.

Then comes the beautiful autumn,
When every fragrant brier,

Flinging its garlands on fence and wall,

Is bright as a living fire;

And then the white, still winter time,

When the snow lies warm on the wheat,

And I think of the days that have passed away,
When my life was young and sweet.

I'm a very happy woman

To-day, though my hair is white,
For some of my troubles I've overlived,
And some I keep out of sight.

I'm a busy old woman, you see, my dear,

As I travel along life's road,

I'm always trying as best I can

To lighten my neighbor's load.

That child? You should think she'd try me?

Does she earn her bread and salt?

You've noticed she's sometimes indolent,

And indolence is a fault?

Of course it is, but the orphan girl

Is growing as fast as she can,

And to make her work from dawn to dark

Was never a part of my plan.

I like to see the dimples

Flash out on the little face,

That was wan enough, and still enough
When first she came to the place.

I think she'll do, when she's older;

A kitten is not a cat;

And now that I look at the thing, my dear,

I hope she'll never be that.

I'm thankful that life is peaceful;
I should just be sick of strife,
If, for instance, I had to live along

Like poor Job Slocum's wife;

I'm thankful I didn't say "yes," my dear

What saved me I do not see

When Job, with a sprig in his buttonhole,

Once came a-courting me.

I'm thankful I'm neither poor nor rich,
Glad that I'm not in debt;

That I owe no money I cannot pay,

And so have no call to fret.

I'm thankful so many love me,

And that I've so many to love,

Though my dearest and nearest are all at home, In the beautiful land above.

The Old Sweethearts.

HUSBAND " The prettiest lass, with the lightest foot,
And the merriest laugh in town,

With a laugh so gay it drove away

The very thought of a frown;

A girl so fair and debonair,

There was none as sweet as she.

You are winsome and white, my little maid,
But you're not like my Marie."

WIFE" The bravest lad, with the courtly speech
And the bow a prince might own,

With a strong right hand, a look of command,
A brow of truth the throne;

A man of men was this one when

He first came seeking me.

You are bright and quick, among lads the pick,
But you're not like my Henri."

The two old dears, their heads are gray,
They are old enough to be young;

For them the bells in jubilant swells
Of the golden wedding have rung.
Fourscore is one beneath the sun,

The other fourscore and five,

But the true, true love that made them one

Is to-day and for aye alive.

The old sweethearts, the fair Marie,

The snow is on her hair,

And her eyes are dim, but not for him,

He deems her fairest fair.

His shoulders stoop, his head may droop,

But change she does not see.

To the sweet old wife, to the end of her life,
Her hero he will be.